Heir of Voldemort
by Fyrie
Summary: Voldemort wants an Heir, lest anything should happen to him. (This story begins in 1980, pre-Harry-birth) - Buffy/HP crossover. [AUTHOR'S NOTE ADDED 20th Nov] WARNING! Badness ensues! *COMPLETE*
1. Chapter 1 : The Need

"That one."  
  
Lucius Malfoy followed the long, thin white finger of his powerful Master with his pale, grey eyes, mentally raising an eyebrow. Although he knew he would regret the words, he said them nonetheless. "Master, she is...unsuitable."  
  
"And your reason for saying this?"  
  
"She does not support our causes."  
  
Voldemort's gleaming eyes turned to his masked aide with enough disapproval to make the pale-faced man flinch back. "Still, she will suffice." He looked back to the groups of prisoners huddled together, halfway up the dungeon.  
  
He and his Death Eaters were gathered in the dungeons of Malfoy's manor, the walls dark and dry stone, stained with generations worth of muggle blood. Flickering torches balanced in brackets along the walls, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the walls.  
  
And across the young witches who were being held, unarmed and bound, before him.  
  
Most of them were sobbing, some sinking to their knees, unable to hold themselves upright any longer. All of them were in the age range between eighteen and thirty, he noted with quiet approval, perfect breeding age.  
  
The one he would have selected, one he had often spotted in Dumbledore's protection, was notably absent and apparently married, carrying her first brat. True, she had been a muggle-born, but such power and beauty in one form.  
  
A sneer curved his lip upwards.  
  
It made no difference now.  
  
He would take the consort and she would provide him with an heir strong enough to resurrect him, should anything happen to him, or even take his place, lest he - he laughed as he thought it - be defeated.  
  
His scarlet eyes fixed on the young Witch he had singled out.  
  
She was the only one of the group who was not weeping. Considering she had been captured by Death Eaters and knew her fate was liable to be one of torment and death, she seemed to be taking it remarkably well.  
  
Petite in height, probably around five feet tall, she was slender, but not too thin, with enough gentle curves to make it clear that she was all woman.  
  
Dark gold hair hung lankly around her face, slightly wavy. Her features, though streaked with dirt and bruised from the struggle she had no doubt put up, were striking, dark brown eyes visible, staring straight ahead of her.  
  
With high cheekbones, a straight nose and full lips, her face was one of those unforgettable ones. She held her head up proudly, determined not to show her fear, despite the fact that her slim hands were shaking furiously.  
  
"Bring her forward." Voldemort's voice was quiet, but it was still audible over the frantic wailing of the other young witches. A terrified silence fell as Lucius moved forward, his oily-looking black cloak rippling around him, a grim-looking black mask obscuring his face.  
  
Grabbing the young witch's upper arm, he felt her wince and grinned cruelly, yanking her towards his Master. She had been the main trouble- maker of all the group that had been captured, fighting bare-handed, when her wand had been snatched.  
  
Her robes torn, flashes of creamy, blood-streaked skin exposed between the rips, she was savagely thrown to her knees in front of the Dark Lord who sat proudly on his elaborately, snake-engraved throne.  
  
"She is a pretty one, wouldn't you say, Lucius?" Voldemort murmured, regarding her.  
  
The witch's eyes darted sideways to the masked man at her side, then away quickly, but Voldemort did not miss the small motion. So she was trying to learn who his Death Eaters were, hmm? Intriguing.  
  
"Good looks don't mean she'll provide you with an heir, Master."  
  
Voldemort smiled slightly. A ripple of unease went around the room. "And yet, look at the one you coupled with, my dear Lucius." He said quietly. "Beauty is there, but it is only skin deep when it comes to power. Look at me, for example." Malfoy swallowed hard, forcing himself to look at the snake-like face of Voldemort. "Would you think I was powerless, because I am not...physically attractive? Remember, if you will, that I know when power is present and will choose accordingly."  
  
"I understand your point, Master." Malfoy hurriedly acquiesced. Murmurs of agreement came from the other Death Eaters lining the dungeon-like room. "But this one... she caused trouble when we captured her."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Malfoy tried to find some other reasoning, but his Master had risen to his feet, stepping down from the small dais, upon which, his throne sat. The young witch went rigid, her hands balling in fists as Voldemort circled her.  
  
Withdrawing his wand from his swirling black robes, the dark wizard touched it to the witch's tattered garb and muttered a spell. The seams split and the fabric slithered down her body to puddle on the stone floor, a rush of cold air on her bare skin making her gasp.  
  
Several of the Death Eaters laughed aloud as the young witch crouched down, trying to conceal her nakedness from them with scraps of material, shivering from the cold of the dark walls and cells around them.  
  
"Silence." Voldemort breathed, turning his fierce eyes upon them. "Leave us."  
  
Hurriedly gathering up the remainder of the now-hysterical young witches, the Death Eaters dragged them kicking and screaming frantically out of the dungeon, to a fate that could only be as bad as, if not worse than that of the golden haired young woman who had captured the Dark Lord's interest.  
  
Huddled on her knees among the fragments of her robes like a wild animal in it's nest, the witch raised dark eyes to him, her arms folded over her chest and pressing against her knees, her long hair shadowing her features.  
  
"What do you want with me?" She rasped, her throat dry from thirst and fear.  
  
"Want, my dear?" He came closer to her, squatting to look her in the eyes. "I want you."  
  
She stared at him. "Kill me." Her voice was low, no fear there.  
  
"I beg your pardon." He seemed amused.  
  
"Kill me. Have done with it." She spat in his face. "I won't be yours."  
  
Voldemort's brow rose. "Spirited, yet suicidal." A thin fingertip wiped the saliva from his cheek carelessly. "An interesting combination, pretty one." He examined the substance on his fingertip with casual interest. "You have yet to hear my terms."  
  
"Terms?"  
  
"Yes," He stood up, offering her a hand. She stared bitterly at it and he shrugged, returning to sit on his throne. "This is the rather fascinating and irritating fact about witches, you see. A witch cannot conceive a child, unless she joins in a union of her own will. A witch can not be forcibly impregnated."  
  
"In that case," Her voice was raw with anger. "You're out of luck. I'm not letting you touch me."  
  
The flickering flames caused dark silhouettes to flit across the Dark Lord's emotionless, stoic face. Slowly, his lips started to rise and the witch recoiled, his visage looking positively demonic in origin. "I think you might, pretty one." He whispered, barely audible over the crackle of the torches.  
  
"Even if you cast the imperio curse on me..." Her voice was shaking as much as her body was, her face white. "That wouldn't be free will."  
  
"As I said, pretty one, there are terms."  
  
"Nothing could make me take you to my bed."  
  
"Not even the lives of your family?" There was a cruel edge of amusement in his voice.  
  
If it were possible, the witch's already white face paled even more, a shaking hand coming to her mouth. "Oh God..." Tears had filled the dark brown eyes, but it had no effect on the Dark Lord, who merely shrugged.  
  
"It is up to you, entirely, pretty one." His voice was low, persuasive. "You could be selfish and let yourself be raped and killed by my Death Eaters, before I wipe out your family." Leaning forward, he lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. "Or you could guarantee their safety, by joining into a union with me. It is your choice."  
  
"That's no choice." Her voice was choked, tears running down her cheeks as she stared at him, eyes full of loathing.  
  
A small smile raised his lips. "I know, pretty one." He said quietly. "But, at the moment, its the only one you have."  
  
"I hate you."  
  
"I did not choose you to love me." He said quietly. "I chose you to be the mother of my Heir, nothing more."  
  
"You will spare my family?"  
  
He smiled again, revealing his teeth this time. "I have no interest in them, pretty one." He said, making a gesture with her wand. Immediately, the young witch was forced to her feet. "I am interested in only you." He unfurled his other hand and beckoned her, drawing on invisible cords his spell had bound her with.  
  
The look of self-loathing on her face was impressive, he noted absently, as she neared him and stood before him. "What do I do?" She asked sullenly.  
  
Voldemort stood, reminding her that he was taller and more powerful than she, looming over her. "You will be my consort." He whispered, his voice more like a hiss than a human voice. He raised a hand, brushing her hair back over her right shoulder, his fingers skimming her neck. A shudder passed through her and the hand locked about her throat. "You will be my consort," He repeated in a low, cautioning tone. "And you will enjoy it."  
  
The witch nodded, staring at him fearfully, forcing back a wave of revulsion at his serpentine features. One hairless brow rose and she hastily raised a false, painful smile. Voldemort nodded, his grip on her throat loosened and his hand lingering on her shoulder.  
  
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He lifted her chin, smiling. Her eyes widened in horror when a forked tongue emerged between his teeth, flickering briefly over his white lips. "Now," He said, fully aware of her increasing terror and shock. "You will fulfil your duties."  
  
Trying not to look like she wanted to vomit, the shivering witch let him draw her pale face close and trembled as his mouth met hers. Like a poisonous snake's, his skin was dry, cool, smooth and felt horrible against her skin.  
  
But she didn't fight.  
  
There was too much at stake.  
  
As one long-fingered, spider-like hand touched her bare skin, she felt like weeping.  
  
As his hand circled her wrist and led her towards an antechamber, she forced herself to think of the family she was saving.  
  
As his mouth and body savaged hers in the deceptively beautiful surroundings of his chambers, she stored all the hate for him and all the love she had ever retained for her family at the back of her heart and mind.  
  
In the quiet darkness of the room, she pulled the rich, soft and warm blankets – so unlike the Dark Lord – around her abused body, weeping with shame as he withdrew from her now-prison and left her curled in the luxurious surroundings, alone.  
  
***  
  
"But that's impossible!"  
  
Voices outside of the beautiful room that had become her shelter and cell stirred the blonde-haired witch.  
  
For nearly a year and a half, Cassandra Bones had been given the... affectionate nickname of Voldemort's whore, something that had come into full fruition seven months previously when she discovered – to her horror – that she was carrying the Heir of Slytherin and Lord Voldemort.  
  
That, though, had brought a small mercy. No longer was she leered at or taunted by Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's absence. There was even talk that Voldemort intended to wed her, to make the child legitimate.  
  
Not the it would make much difference.  
  
As a sign of his protection and ownership, though, the Dark Mark had been placed on her left shoulder by her Dark Master as she had slept. The agony of it had woken her and left her weeping for hours from the pain.  
  
Sitting up amid the blankets, she laid a protective hand over her swollen belly, listening for the voices that seemed to be strangely frenzied. The dungeon outside of the room seemed to be bustling with activity.  
  
"Went to the Potters..."  
  
"Pettigrew said..."  
  
Voices faded in and out of range.  
  
Sliding out of the bed and pulling a robe down from hooks on the bedposts, she wrapped it around her body and made her way to the doorway, looking out into the dungeon. The Death Eaters looked like they were in a state of panic.  
  
"What's going on?" She demanded, immediately getting the attention of everyone in the room.  
  
"My Lady," Hearing Malfoy calling her that almost made her want to laugh out loud, before kicking him in the teeth. "The Dark Lord went to find the Potters..." She remembered the Potters, tried to conceal her panic. They had been the likable and friendly Head Boy and Head Girl in the same year as her, at Hogwarts. "Pettigrew provided information, but...something happened there...our Master is gone."  
  
"Gone?" She took an unsteady step back. "What do you mean gone?"  
  
"The Potters are dead, but their son...the curse...it didn't work..." Malfoy looked around frantically. "My Lady, I would suggest that you depart as soon as you can. Find somewhere safe, somewhere to raise out Master's Heir. When he's ready..."  
  
Cassandra nodded grimly. It was clear that Lord Voldemort had not told them of the 'terms' upon which he had been able to utilise her body. Apparently they assumed that it had been a mutual joining, with the promises of power that he gave to all his followers.  
  
"I have friends who are students of the dark arts." She replied. "I will find sanctuary with one of them until the time is right."  
  
Yes, she had been raised to know that lying was bad, but she had also been raised to know that handing over the darkest Wizard's son to his murderous supporters would never be a good thing for her or the baby.  
  
Her family would know what to do.  
  
"Malfoy," Forcing that note of imperial arrogance that her abuser had used so well into her voice, she met his cold grey eyes. "You will have to provide me with funding to utilise muggle transport. It will look less suspicious."  
  
"Of course, my Lady."  
  
Honestly, Cassandra thought with disgust, he would bend down and lick my shoes if I said the word. What a change it was from the first day, when he had dragged her in and thrown her to the floor.  
  
Returning to her chambers, she knelt down and pulled a trunk from under the bed, loosening the catch with her shaking fingers. It sprang open, revealing a collection of robes and a few pieces of muggle clothing that had belonged the the Dark Lord.  
  
She plunged her hands into the trunk, searching out something she could wear as she made her escape. A loose pair of dark trousers were the first thing she found, rapidly followed by a luxurious black silk shirt.  
  
While Voldemort's clothing all had that same serpentine feel to it, she didn't truly care, as long as she got away and back to her family safely. Discarding her robes, she pulled the trousers on over her legs, the fabric rippling sickeningly against her skin.  
  
They were far too long for her, Voldemort a good head taller than she was and – despite his snake-like features – larger in build. He had been powerfully built, with a violent strength that had terrified her.  
  
Tying the cord from one of the bathrobes around her waist, she pulled it tight against her belly and felt the baby within her kick with protest. A weak laugh escaped her as she loosened it, then sat to roll the hems of the trouser legs up enough to let her walk freely.  
  
Pushing her hair back, she retrieved the black shirt and pulled it over her head, letting it slither down her body. The material was cool against her skin and she hastily fastened the buttons with quaking fingers.  
  
"My Lady?" Whipping around, her flaxen hair fell across her pale face and she quickly raised a hand to brush it back.  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
He nodded. "I got some muggle money for you, my Lady." He bowed, as she made her way around the room to find a pair of shoes that she could wear. "Also," She cast a curious look in his direction. "We found your wand."  
  
"Oh?" A surge of hope ran through her. If she had her wand, it would make her escape so much easier. The masked Malfoy approached, going on one knee. Opening his hands, she recognised the long, slim wand that lay there. "Thank you, Malfoy." She murmured, taking it from his gloved hands.  
  
With a gesture, she conjured a pair of shoes, to test that she could – still – use the thing. It would have been entirely useless if she had found that, in the year of her imprisonment, her magical abilities had parted from her.  
  
"Will you be all right on your own, my Lady?" Malfoy eyed her dubiously. "If you wish, we could provide you with an escort..."  
  
"And don't you think that would look rather suspicious to other Wizards who are looking for Death Eaters, Malfoy?" She remarked quietly, as she pulled her shoes on and laced them up quickly. "A whole group of Wizards surrounding a lone witch?"  
  
He nodded quickly. "I see your point, my Lady." He proffered a small, red velvet purse trimmed with gold to her. "Here's some muggle money. It should take you to safety."  
  
"Very good." She murmured, taking the purse and snatching one of Voldemort's black cloaks from the hooks. "Perhaps you could call me one of those ridiculous Muggle methods of transportation...a...a tuxi? I will need one so I can go to the station."  
  
"Yes, my Lady." Bowing deeply, Malfoy cast one last look at the swell of her belly. "Thank you, my Lady."  
  
He departed and Cassandra sank wearily down on the end of her bed. It was over. Soon, she would be out of here and she would be safe. Her family would take care of her and the baby keep them safe.  
  
***  
  
Descending from the train, the young Witch made her way towards the taxi rank, tired from the long journey and looking forward to seeing her parents and little brother again. Rain was pelting down from the gravel-grey sky, a light wind tossing her hair around her face.  
  
A row of gleaming black cabs awaited her and she selected the foremost one, sliding exhaustedly into the back seat. Giving him directions, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.  
  
The...farewell from the Death Eaters had been a horrible experience to go through and she wished she could purge it from her mind. The sight of them opening deep wounds in their hands and laying the bloodied palms against her belly...  
  
A wave of nausea passed over her against the memory.  
  
A Death Eater's blood vow of loyalty had been cast on her and the child she carried. It meant that, no matter what happened, no Death Eater could lay a finger on her or the child, which she was grateful for.  
  
Even if the child turned out to be a powerless squib - which she knew was unlikely - they could not harm it, because the blood vow was the only statement of honour that the Death Eaters acknowledged.  
  
She had forced herself to sit through the ritual as bloody hand after bloody hand touched her, reverently, awe-filled eyes glittering at her behind the masks. Now, she knew, they respected her and feared her as much as the Dark Lord.  
  
Only one had seemed dubious about bestowing his loyalty to the child. Most of them had whispered a vow to her, as they touched her, but this one merely stared at her for a long moment, black eyes gleaming behind the mask.  
  
She had met those dark, mysterious eyes as his thin hand had brushed over her belly. Part of her wanted to demand to know who he was, the expression in those eyes familiar, the chill of skin equally so.  
  
Then, to her astonishment, he leaned forward as the others had and breathed – a silky rasp – in her ear. "Keep him safe. Hide. Do not let yourself be found."  
  
The jolt of the cab stirred her from her reverie and she looked around, spotting the familiar house that they had halted outside of. A broad smile crossed her face and she quickly handed the driver some money, before scrambling out of the cab and running towards the front door.  
  
Touching the lock with the tip of her wind, she whispered, "Alohomora." The door clicked open, but she had to shoulder it to open it widely enough to get in. "Mum! Dad!" Looking around the Hall, everything was exactly how she remembered it. "I'm home!"  
  
No reply came.  
  
Cassandra frowned slightly.  
  
Maybe they were on holiday or something. Celebrating the downfall of Voldemort no doubt.  
  
Squeezing around the jammed door, she looked down to see what had blocked it and was confused by the heap of muggle mail lying there. True, her father had liked to keep up with muggle news, but surely they didn't deliver twenty every week.  
  
Kneeling as quickly as she could, she examined the dates of those newspapers in the piles that was already reaching halfway up the door. One - yellowed with age - from the bottom of the pile was from the previous year.  
  
A surge of horror rippled through her.  
  
"No..."  
  
Grabbing another, then another, the dates all told her the same thing. No one had checked the mail for over a year and a half, when these letters had been delivered.  
  
Tears of confusion and fury were pouring down her face when a headline leapt out at her from one of the rolled up papers.  
  
"Tragic family killed in gas-leak"  
  
Her hands shaking, she opened out the paper, smoothing it out on the floor. A motionless muggle picture of her parents and brother smiled up at her from the yellowed page directly beneath the grim headline.  
  
Forcing her tears back, she started to read, her anger and despair rising with every word.  
  
Barely days after her capture, apparently – according to the muggles – a gas leak had killed her whole family, some kind of strange, green emissions lingering over their house for several hours after they had died.  
  
On the third page of the paper, there was a picture of the cloud of green and a comment from a member of the public, who had seen it, and remarked that it looked strangely like a skull with a snake protruding from the mouth.  
  
The Dark Mark.  
  
How could she mistake it for anything else, after what she had been forced to live through?  
  
Struggling through the large piles of newspapers, she realised that they must have kept sending the newspapers until the paid subscriptions for them had run out, the most recent paper a year old. Trust daddy to pay for a year in advance.  
  
She found the past editions of The Daily Prophet from the same date, not wanting to believe it was true. The headline was nearly identical to the muggle paper, the picture of her smiling, happy family visible there.  
  
"While Donald and Helen Bones and their young son, Patrick (10), were all found at the home they shared, its is believed that the missing daughter, Cassandra Bones (19) – formerly of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – may have turned to the dark side, joining Lord Voldemort." She read aloud, her voice breaking. "She has not been seen for several months and rumours surrounding her disappearance all suggest that she would have been more than capable of joining the dark side."  
  
The article went on to describe her fiery temper and her tendencies to strike out at anyone who did not do exactly as she wanted. She saw Rita Skeeter's name at the top of the column, letting the paper slip from her fingers.  
  
Her family were dead.  
  
He had killed them, despite all he had said.  
  
He had murdered them all, barely days after he had promised her their lives.  
  
"You bastard..." She whispered, burying her face in her hands. "You lying bastard..."  
  
***  
  
The windows and mirror of the bathroom were covered with steamy condensation as the young witch climbed out of the pale blue bath. She had lain there in the warm water for hours, her hair drifting around her like pond weed.  
  
The first half an hour had been spent scrubbing at her body, trying to remove every visible and invisible stain that lingered there. Especially on the rounded swell of her belly, the blood-stains still lingering from the Death Eaters pact.  
  
Her skin raw and crimson, she had given up on the permanent stains, lying back in the bubble-infested water and wondering if it would be easier just to sink beneath the surface and let death take her, to join her family.  
  
She had decided against it, though.  
  
For one, she still had someone she had to see. He could help.  
  
The young witch wrapped a towel around her body and approached the mirror over the sink, reaching up to smear away the condensation with a wrinkled palm.  
  
Staring at herself in the mirror, Cassandra barely recognised her own features. She had lost weight since she had been captured, her face gaunt and pale. Her eyes were haunted and bloodshot, dark circles ringing them.  
  
Her flaxen hair was damp around her shoulders, longer than it had been for a long time.  
  
The Dark Lord had liked it that way, often forcing her to kneel at his throne so he could pet her like some kind of dumb animal. She shuddered, recalling the sensation of his spidery fingers weaving through her hair.  
  
A large, gleaming pair of scissors lay on the ledge beneath the mirror and she hesitantly picked them up. One shaking hand lifted a long strand of her hair, drawing it between the blades of the scissors.  
  
Snip.  
  
Six inches of golden hair dropped to the tiled floor silently.  
  
Snip.  
  
Another handful of her thick, beautiful hair fell.  
  
Tears welled in her eyes as she recalled her mother brushing and braiding her hair, when she was younger. Her hands were shaking as she continued to hack long strands off, violent sobs racking her body as the damp curls fluttered down her body.  
  
Finally, the scissors clattered into the sink and she stared at her reflection again. Cropped close to her skull, what remained of her once- glorious hair stood in little tufts, messy and ugly to look at.  
  
Exactly how she felt.  
  
Brushing her fingers through her short mane, loose tufts fell around her, scattering on the floor at her feet.  
  
Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she turned away from the mirror and made her way out of the bathroom, to her old familiar bedroom, where she could find sanctuary, at least for a little while.  
  
***  
  
"I wondered when you would show up here."  
  
Sitting on her bed against the wall, wearing her old T-shirt and navy tracksuit bottoms, her favourite old teddy bear hugged against her chest, Cassandra's crimson-rimmed brown eyes rose to the figure standing at her bedroom door.  
  
A hysterical sob of relief escaped her and she flew across the room to him, grabbing the wizard in a tight hug.  
  
"Hey now," Almost knocked off his feet, he held her gently. "Easy, Cass."  
  
"They're dead, Ethan. They're all dead." She whispered tearfully, clinging to him tightly. "He-he-he promised he wouldn't kill them...he promised..." She felt a rough hand stroke her hair. "A-and they're blaming m-me...they think I-I killed them..."  
  
The sandy-haired, twenty-three year old Wizard gently scooped her up and carried her across the room to sit down on her dusty bed, not relinquishing his hold on her. "Are you going to tell me what happen, then, Cassie?" He asked carefully.  
  
"Death Eaters..." She whispered brokenly, staring up at him. He nodded grimly. "They t-t-took me to him...h-he wanted an heir, Ethan...gave me a-a- a choice...h-him and my f-family's lives... o-or death..."  
  
"Oh God..."  
  
She took his hand shakily and lowered it onto her belly. "He m-made me, Ethan...I didn't have a choice..." The pity and anger in her long-time friend's face made her lower her head, shame filling her. "He m-made me his whore..."  
  
"No, Cass. You were brave. incredibly brave. You did something even I wouldn't have been able to do." He gathered her against his chest, hugging her tightly. "You did what you thought would save your family."  
  
"I was stupid...s-so stupid."  
  
"But you're free now, eh?"  
  
"I-I'll never be free, Ethan." She bowed her head and pushed her shirt down her shoulder, revealing the Dark Mark on her pale skin. She heard her friend's hiss of anger and blinked fiercely, tears stinging in her eyes. "I belong to him now."  
  
She was quickly drawn back into a tender, comforting embrace, her friend rocking her as she wept and murmuring reassuringly to her.  
  
Ethan Rayne had been four years above her at Hogwarts and he had been the trouble-maker who had taken her under his wing, when one-too-many Slytherins decided she was fair game to pick on, because so was small and delicate looking.  
  
Both in Hufflepuff, he had helped her with her spells, teaching her charms and tricks none of the teachers had, to help her defend herself against the bullies of Slytherin, who were getting too big for their boots.  
  
A strange friendship had grown between the pair and even when he had been exiled from the main part of the Wizarding world for playing with dark powers, she had remained in contact with him, frequently sending him owls to tell him to behave himself.  
  
He had replied just as frequently, saying that he was simply having far too much fun to listen to a single word she was saying. He had never messed with dark powers like true Dark wizards, but toyed with the underworld just enough to get him expelled from their world.  
  
Even so, he had always turned up when he needed her. Somehow, he knew where she would be, when something happened, although she could understand why he couldn't find her during her imprisonment.  
  
"Is it definitely his?" He finally asked, his voice strained.  
  
"No one else w-was allowed to touch me." She nodded miserably. "Th-that's why he marked me...they're loyal t-to me now." She lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the lingering marks of bloody handprints that hadn't washed off, no matter how hard she scrubbed at them.  
  
Ethan stared at the stains in horror. "The blood vow?" He asked, his voice shaking with anger.  
  
"All of them did it." She replied softly. "One of them...he told me I had to get away... to hide...I-I think he th-thinks the dark Lord...Voldemort...he'll come back..." She touched her stomach hesitantly. "I-I don't want him taking this child."  
  
The Wizard nodded. "You could go to the Ministry..."  
  
"No!" Both of them started at the vehemence in her voice. "I can't...you know what they're like. I-I would be seen as the whore of the Dark Lord...they would throw me in Azkhaban without even giving me a trial, because they all know that no witch can be forced to fall pregnant." A shudder ran through her. "I had to join with him of my own choice...I did...they won't believe anything I say...especially with the rumours...and the mark."  
  
Ethan nodded slowly, scratching his head. "I think there is a way we can hide you, Cass." He said quietly. "But it would mean that you would have to trust me with your life and the life of the squirt you're carrying."  
  
"You know I do, Ethan."  
  
A small smile crossed his face. "In that case..." He looked around, making sure there was no one anywhere near them, which was rather pointless really. "Have you ever heard of the Fidelius charm?"  
  
"I-I think so."  
  
"Its a very difficult and complex spell to do..." He murmured, continuing to gently stroke the short tufts of her hair as he spoke, her head resting against his chest. "It involves the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul." He turned her face to hers. "I would do that spell for you, if you trusted me. No one would ever find you."  
  
She stared at him, her fingers rising to touch the mark on her slim shoulder. "But the dark mark, Ethan..." She shook her head. "Nothing can prevent Voldemort from knowing where his marked ones are."  
  
"There is somewhere you could go..." Rising, Ethan crossed the room to her bookshelf and searched out a large Magical Dictionary. Sitting back down beside her, he opened the dusty volume and flicked through the pages. "Here."  
  
"A Hellmouth?" She raised a brow at him. "Is that as bad as it sounds?"  
  
"More than likely." He grinned faintly. "The thing is, its a centre of mystical convergence. Its a source of huge and uncontrollable power, so even if you felt your dark mark, there would be so much power near and around you that he couldn't pinpoint you and with the Fidelius charm, he wouldn't even recognise you if you passed him in the street."  
  
"Are you sure it would work?"  
  
The Wizard nodded. "It'll be a challenge for me and a lot of work for both of us," He said, a grim look on his face. "But I think we could pull it off and – if the worst comes to the worst – we could always resort to Polyjuice potion."  
  
"Goodie."  
  
Ethan flashed her a broad smile. "I thought you'd say that."  
  
"When would we do it?"  
  
"As soon as you drop the sprog, I think it would be a good time to start." She nodded in agreement, letting her friend hold her and rock her gently. For the first time since her escape, she found herself relaxing enough to fall asleep in Ethan's protective arms.  
  
Touching his cheek shakily, she weakly whispered. "You wont leave me?"  
  
"No chance, Shrimpy." He murmured, kissing the top of her head. She smiled tiredly at the childhood nickname, closing her eyes as he drew the dusty blanket around both of them. "You just rest, okay?"  
  
"Mmm...hmm..."  
  
***  
  
"Why can't we..."  
  
Ethan stifled her words with his fingertips, shaking his head. "Luv, we can't risk it. You can use the muggle devices as much as you like, but the fire, owls, anything like that... it could be tracked and I don't want to lose you."  
  
"I want to keep in touch with you, Ethan." Looking up at the tall Wizard who had helped her through the last two months of Hell, tears filled Cassandra's eyes. "What will I do if I need help? If they find me?" She looked down at the baby cradled in her arms. "If they find us?"  
  
Smiling wearily, Ethan gently stroked her cheek. "You'll be fine, Cass." He promised. Brown eyes gazed up at him warily. "I'll drop out and visit you when I can, but there's no guarantee that it'll be very often."  
  
"Just as long as you let me know you're alive." She wagged a finger up at them. "If you get yourself killed, I'm going to be very cross."  
  
"Nothing to worry about there, luv." He said, lowering his hand to touch the baby's face. "Old Voldie is gone and you have nothing to worry about." His smile was genuine. "I intend to keep it that way."  
  
"But what if...?" A muffled sob escaped her and she embraced him with her free arm. "Ethan, I already lost my whole family and I'm the mother of Voldemort's only child... I don't want to get you killed as well."  
  
Ethan sighed, his breath ruffling her cropped, dyed brown hair. "Cass, I'm big and ugly enough to look after myself, you know." He kissed her gently on the forehead. "He's never going to learn anything from me, because he's never even going to know I exist. The Fidelius malarky is only the icing on the very big and attractive cake." His smile reassured her somewhat. "I have enough keeping me safe as it is."  
  
"You and your dark protectors?" She tried to laugh, but it trailed off, tears trickling down the hollows of her pale cheeks. "Just don't do anything stupid, please, Ethan." She reached up to touch his face. "Who would I have to left to love if you were gone?"  
  
His eyes met hers, then he looked down at the baby. "You always have Alexander."  
  
She nodded, looking down at the child that he had helped her to deliver. To their astonishment, he had been a perfectly normal baby, born with a thicket of nearly black hair and ears that stuck out just like Cassandra's father's had.  
  
Alexander LaVelle – Cassandra already regretted letting Ethan name him – looked nothing like his evil father, no traces of any of the hideous, snake- like features that had made Voldemort so physically repulsive.  
  
Now, he was fast asleep in the blankets in his diminutive mother's arms. He slept a lot, which was a small blessing, only waking to eat, have his nappy changed and then going back to sleep almost instantly.  
  
A voice rang out over the speakers. "Passengers for flight 362 to Los Angeles via New York, make your way to gate 21 for boarding."  
  
"That's us." Cassandra reluctantly noted, looking up at the speaker, as if it had betrayed her in some way. "Walk with me?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
His arm around her shoulder protectively, he wished he didn't have to send her so far away, wishing he could keep her closer, in his care, but with the eternal threat of the Death Eaters in Britain, he knew he had to get her as far away as possible.  
  
There seemed to be a veritable flood of people boarding the flight, so Ethan held Cassandra back briefly, to prevent her being crushed in the rush to get into the plane.  
  
She stood by his side, looking more like a lost little girl than ever. Wearing some of her equally small mother's clothing, she had taken anything she could find of comfort and stuffed it into a case for travelling.  
  
Ethan had acquired false paperwork, including a realistic looking passport that stated that she was Cassie LaVelle, a twenty-two year old, which was only a two years of exaggeration. She had also been provided with a green card, no doubt as legal as the passport was.  
  
"You'll take care?" She looked up at him again.  
  
"Don't I always?"  
  
She embraced him once more, tears spilling hotly down her face. "That didn't answer the question, Ethan." She whispered raspingly, staring him in the eyes. "I still love you... never forget that."  
  
Pulling him down to her level, she kissed him on both cheeks then his lips gently, before turning and running through the gate, leaving him staring after her in confusion.  
  
At the end of the boarding tunnel, Cassandra glanced back, wishing she could stay. The hostess lead her to her seat, offering her a special strap for her sleeping infant, which Cassandra reluctantly accepted.  
  
Seated by a window, she looked out at the terminus, where she could see the lanky form of Ethan standing by the immense windows, staring at the plane. Touching her fingertips to her lips, she touched the kiss to the glass. "Goodbye for now, Ethan." She whispered. "We'll see you in Sunnydale." 


	2. Chapter 2 : The Pain

Ten Years After "Heir Of Voldemort" – Chapter One  
  
"Hey mom!"  
  
"Hi Xander's mom!"  
  
"Hi, Mrs. Harris."  
  
Cassandra looked up from the dishes she was washing and smiled at the three youngsters who had just entered the kitchen. "What have you three been up to, today?" She looked from the timid red head girl, to her son and his tawny-haired friend.  
  
"Will just came over to do my homework for me." Alexander grinned broadly from her to his fire-haired friend. "Didn't you, Will?"  
  
"Help you with your homework!" Willow protested weakly.  
  
Alexander turned large, puppy-dog eyes to her. "Aww, c'mon, Will." He whined.  
  
"Yeah, Willow." Jesse added his pout to the combination. "After all, you're so good at it and we're so...well, not."  
  
"Mrs. Harris," Willow turned hopefully to the only sane person in the house with a pleading look, begging her to intercede. Cassandra raised a golden eyebrow in expectation. "Will you tell them to do their own homework?"  
  
"You could always let them copy yours." The golden-haired woman suggested with a small mischievous smile.  
  
Alexander's wide, bright smile lit up the room, so like her brother's had been, and Cassandra hurriedly stifled the urge to grab him and hug him. Already as tall as she was, he was going to be as tall and broad as...his father.  
  
"Thanks mom!" He laughed triumphantly.  
  
"But don't make it look like you actually copied it, boys. I want to see at least one or two mistakes of your own." She gave them both a stern look, that barely hid a smile. "Am I making myself absolutely clear?"  
  
"In other words, don't let 'em see how smart we really are." Alexander nodded furtively. "After all, one of the main weapons of a Spanish Inquisition is surprise, cos nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition..."  
  
"Don't even think about starting that, my boy." His mother cautioned, looking around sharply as she heard something crash into their rubbish bins at the front gate. "Your father's home early." She gasped. "Quick," Motioning them to the stairs, she peered out of the window. "Get upstairs and don't make too much noise."  
  
The trio nodded, Jesse and Willow racing up the stairs. "Will you be okay, mom?" As always, her son's first priority was for her.  
  
"I'll be fine." Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she forced a smile. "Just go."  
  
With a reluctant nod, Alexander squeezed her hand then followed his friends up the stairs to his room. They had learned the hard way not to get in the way of Robert Harris when he got home from work.  
  
Cassandra had ended up married to the thuggish and much older man when she had been in America less than a year, living in a cheap hotel on the edge of Sunnydale, the Hellmouth Ethan had found for her, far enough away to prevent any Death Eaters finding her easily.  
  
She had needed some kind of stability and someone who would be willing to support her and her infant son and when Robert Harris suggest that she marry him, she had not stopped to think of the consequences.  
  
However, after less than six months, his treatment of her made her wish that she was back in Voldemort's grasp. At least there, the Death Eaters had known to keep their hands to themselves, but because she already had a child, Harris' friends considered her 'easy'.  
  
When – four years into their marriage – a few of his high school buddies decided to take advantage of the pretty, petite blonde woman, Robert had been drunk out of his mind and given his permission for his friends to 'have some fun with the slut'.  
  
Unfortunately, said friends had been on the High School Football team with him and there were four of them and only one tiny, terrified and defenseless Witch against them. She had spent hours the next day crying in the bathroom.  
  
From that day, she maintained a constant repulsion charm on herself, so any male that looked at her apart from Harris, thought she was unattractive, overweight and generally worth avoiding.  
  
Only Harris saw her as the small, lithe nymph he had married.  
  
There had been no more trouble since then, although little Alexander had often seen 'daddy' striking mom in a fit of temper. He was as scared of his adoptive father as she was and avoided him when possible.  
  
Recently, the rough American had taken to drinking on the way back from work as well, which usually meant he was roaring drunk by the time he got home. If anything was even a little wrong when that happened, she would know about it.  
  
She would have left him long ago, but he did take care of Alexander, which was more than she expected from any other man. He had accepted him as a son and treated him with care and affection, or as much of either emotion as he was capable of, considering his very nature and demeanour.  
  
Returning to the dishes, she could feel her hands shaking beneath the water and she kept her eyes down as the door opened beside her. "Hi, honey." She mumbled, rinsing the bubbles off a white plate.  
  
Her husband cast his eyes over her briefly, before stomping through to the living room with a growl. "Bring me a beer."  
  
Drying her hands on her jeans, Cassandra hurried to the refrigerator and pulled a can free from the pack there. A chilled glass waited in the freezer and she quickly poured the foaming liquid into it.  
  
Carrying it through, she gave Robert a smile. "Here you are."  
  
"Sit down, Cassie." He patted his lap and Cassandra reluctantly sat herself on his broad thighs. While he was no longer a sporty man, he still carried the bulky weight of a footballer, with the added appeal of a pot belly.  
  
"How was work?"  
  
"Usual."  
  
Picking at the nail of her little finger, she chewed on her lip, wondering what he would want this time. He was apparently in a decent mood, which was a good sign, and he wasn't too drunk, which was something.  
  
She found out soon enough when he pulled her mouth down on his. The scent of stale beer made her gag and she felt the cool beer spilling from his glass onto her bare forearm that was holding her upright against the arm of the chair.  
  
"Take your pants off." He muttered, fumbling with his belt.  
  
Ah yes, this was why she disliked it when he was semi-sober.  
  
"But honey, the kids are..."  
  
Dark eyes narrowed. "I said," He repeated in a low, dangerous voice. "Take off your pants."  
  
Standing, Cassandra looked down at him uncertainly. "But Jesse and Willow..."  
  
"Damn it, you ungrateful little bitch!" His voice rose to a bellow and was on his feet, towering above her. Large hands gripped her upper arms, shaking her violently. "You're my damn wife and I can do whatever the Hell I like to you in our home, kids or no kids!"  
  
"Robert!" She cried out as he back-handed her.  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
"Y-you're hurting me." Tears of pain sprang to Cassandra's dark eyes. She could feel her skin bruising under his callous fingers.  
  
He smashed his mouth bruisingly down on hers, crushing her lips in a savage kiss. "Then do what you're damn well told next time." He snarled, his own hand undoing the button and zipper of her jeans.  
  
Forced down onto her back on the couch, Cassandra could feel tears streaming down her face as her husband violated her body in ways more painful and humiliating than anything Voldemort had ever done to her.  
  
As he finished with her, his huge body sagging on hers, he stroked her cheek, not even noticing that she flinched from his touch. "You had to learn who was in charge, Cass." He muttered. "Next time, do what I tell you first time."  
  
"Y-yes, Robert." She whispered, almost sobbing in relief as he rolled off her and stumbled to his feet.  
  
"I'm going to meet the boys. I'll be back late."  
  
"Yes, Robert." She repeated mechanically.  
  
She distantly registered the front door slamming closed and the sound of the car tyres screaming on the road as her husband reversed out and sped off to join his friends at some pub or other.  
  
Curling up in a ball on the couch, she hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing softly.  
  
She didn't hear the sound of her son ushering his friends quickly out of the back door, or his whispered apologies, or even when he finally came around the couch until he knelt down beside her and touched her shoulder.  
  
"Mom?" She started in fright. "Mom, its me..."  
  
"A-Alex?" Struggling to sit, she gasped in pain, but still forced herself to sit upright and embrace her son, his arms going around him as tears continued to pour from her eyes. "I-I'm sorry if I-I scared you...your friends...they must have been shocked..."  
  
Hugging her tightly, the ten year old shook his head. "Its okay, mom." He whispered. "I was worried about you." Drawing back, his expression older than his years, he gently took her hand in his. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Just a little sore." She lied. Her husband had pulled her pants up before he left her, but she could feel sticky blood on the inside of her thighs and the pain was throbbing in her lower body as if she were on fire.  
  
"You're lying, mom." His gentle fingers touched her cheek. "You wanna go to the bathroom?"  
  
How well he knew her.  
  
When 'daddy's friends' had been allowed to play, he had found her in the bathroom and, even at the age of five, knew something wrong had been going on. He had also worked out that the bathroom was her one sanctuary.  
  
Nodding weakly, she let him help her up and both of them made the slow journey up the staircase to the big bathroom. Letting her stop by the mirror, he crossed the floor and turned the hot water on to fill the bath for her.  
  
Cassandra stared mutely at her beaten reflection. She had to admit that Robert had done a quality piece of work on her with one blow. A large bruise spread from her cheekbone to jawline, dark and black.  
  
"Do you need any help, mom?"  
  
Still fingering the bruise, she started to shake her head, but didn't manage to form any words, before the choking sob escaped her. She sank to her knees on the bathroom floor and Alexander was beside her in a second, gathering her up in a hug, crying with her.  
  
"I...I think you'll have to help me undress, Alex..." She whispered shakily, lowering her eyes. Her lower body was burning agonisingly, while her upper body was aching unbearably. "I don't want you to be embarrassed, though..."  
  
He shook his head. "I won't be, mom...I want to help."  
  
Forcing a smile, she motioned to her T-shirt. "Can you..." He quickly helped her peel it off, the bruises on her upper arms more extensive than she expected. The skin was dark black from just below her shoulder to just above her elbow.  
  
"Mom, you can't let him do this to you anymore." Alexander said, staring at the ugly bruises.  
  
"I know, Alex." She said quietly. It was times like this that she wished she had been able to stay with Ethan; black-magic-loving, insane, exiled, demon-worshipping, safe Ethan. The paradox of her best and closest friend made her laugh softly.  
  
"Mom? What is it?"  
  
She raised her eyes to her son. "I was just thinking about your God- father." She said softly. "I think he would probably kill me himself rather than see me living like this, you know." A sad smile crossed her face. "I miss him sometimes, Alex."  
  
"I know, mom."  
  
Drawing him into her bruised arms, Cassandra sighed. She had never been able to tell her son about his heritage, lest there be anyone of that persuasion at his school, who would reveal his whereabouts to Death Eaters.  
  
In addition to that, the Fidelius charm had been placed to keep Alexander's magical abilities as the secret, so he would not develop them unless Ethan revealed the secret to him, when the time was right. If she said anything about them, she could ruin all that her friend had done to save her and her only remaining pure family member.  
  
More than anything, she simply wished she could go home, back to her family home and find them all alive and everyone happy.  
  
"Mom, what's that?"  
  
Tilting her head to look at him, she asked. "What's what, honey?"  
  
"This." He tapped a spot on her left shoulder and her eyes widened in shock. In the reflection on the side of the ceramic bathtub, he had seen the outline of the Dark Mark that his father had left on her shoulder.  
  
Turning her body slightly to look over at it, she still shuddered when she actually saw it. "That was a little gift from my first...boyfriend." She gave Alexander a weak smile. "You can tell I don't have much luck with men, can't you?"  
  
"What was he like? Did he hit you?"  
  
Cassandra bit her lip. She could tell him that. It wouldn't ruin the Fidelius charms protection... would it? "He didn't hit me, Alex." She replied quietly. "He did kill my family, though." She gave her son a bleak smile. "I've got great taste, haven't I?"  
  
"Its not your fault, mom." Alexander cuddled close to her, his arms going around her waist. "Y'know what I sometimes wish?"  
  
"What's that?" She asked, her lips pressed against his brow.  
  
"Sometimes, I wish I could magic dad away...just wave my hand and poof!" He made a gesture with his hand. "He'd be gone." He looked up at her. "Not dead, though. Just gone away. Not here anymore."  
  
Cassandra laughed softly. "I know the feeling." She murmured. "Now, you go and find your friends and do your homework, okay?" She managed to stand up. "I'll have a bath and I'll clean myself up."  
  
"Will you be okay, mom?"  
  
A small, wicked smile crept onto her swollen lips as a thoroughly naughty and illegal idea came to her. "You know, Alex," She said, dropping a light kiss on his head. "I think we're going to be fine."  
  
Hugging her once more, Alexander darted off out of the bathroom and down the stairs. His mother closed the door behind him and locked it, pushing her pants down her body and stepping out of them.  
  
As expected, there were dried blood stains on her thighs and on her jeans.  
  
Looking around at the bath, she was relieved to see it was nearly full. Stripping off the remainder of her clothing and dropping it to the floor, she stepped into the hot water and submerged herself up to her neck.  
  
Closing her sore eyes, she thought of the wand she had hidden in the base of her case. A memory reached her of the unforgivable curses and the lectures that her teachers had given her at Hogwarts.  
  
None of them said if it was actually illegal to use such a curse on your husband after he had raped you.  
  
She would have smiled if the situation hadn't been so serious. Her husband was upsetting her son. Her son was the one she loved and the one she protected. If she had to stop her husband doing something by illegal means, she would.  
  
And she was a witch, after all.  
  
***  
  
"Is your mom okay, Xander?" Willow was sitting at the bench in the park, doing Jesse's homework for him, while he lay on the ground turning ants into mini-flaming-infernos with help from the sun and a magnifying glass.  
  
Alexander nodded grimly. "Dad hurt her real bad." He replied. "She had bruises on her arms and face and she was crying again." He was sitting on the bench next to Willow, shredding a twig to nothing with a pen knife.  
  
"She in the bathroom?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"What about your dad?"  
  
"Went out with friends, I guess."  
  
Willow cast a sidelong look at her friend. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I dunno, Will..." He blew out a huge breath. "Why can't my family be more like yours?"  
  
"What? Never here?"  
  
"At least your dad doesn't hurt your mom." Alexander said bitterly.  
  
Reaching over, Willow patted his hand. "I wish I could help." She murmured.  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Wouldn't it be cool," Jesse looked up. "If you turned out to be some kind of weird superhero guy and then you could," He made a wild punching gesture that succeeding in bruising the air very badly. "Kick your dad's ass!"  
  
Alexander grinned weakly. "I wish." He said.  
  
***  
  
The front door crashed shut.  
  
It was a sound assurance – literally – that Robert Harris was home and drunk.  
  
Thumping steps sounded on the stairs.  
  
Sitting calmly on the covers of their bed, wearing an oversized T-shirt and reading a cheesy Mills and Boon romance, Cassandra looked up as her husband stumbled into their bedroom, already reaching for his belt.  
  
"Good evening, Robert."  
  
That made him pause.  
  
She never called him by his name.  
  
"Get on your back." He grunted, fumbling with his zipper.  
  
"No."  
  
That also made him stop, staring across at her fuzzily. "Didn't you learn something from this afternoon, you stupid whore?" He growled. "I'm your husband and I can have sex with you any damn time I want."  
  
"Not anymore." She said. Her voice was cold, crisp, frighteningly calm. "Now, I get to do the choosing. No more of your friends sneaking in to rut with me in the middle of the night. No more beating me up. No more scaring my son."  
  
Robert laughed, a harsh, booming sound. "You think you can stop me?" He took a step towards her threateningly. "I have every right to do whatever the hell I want to you and that bastard brat of yours."  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
Her calmness was unnerving.  
  
Normally, she would be pleading and whimpering, but not this time.  
  
Reaching behind her as he took another step towards her, she withdrew a long, slender wand of mahogany. "I wouldn't come any closer, Robert." She said quietly, her eyes cold. "You've hurt me enough."  
  
"What are you gonna do?" He sneered. "A spell?" He stumbled forward, reaching for her.  
  
"Actually, yes." She smiled, then said. "Petrificus totallus." Robert Harris froze, going as stiff as a board. Only his eyes could still move as he plummeted forward and landed flat on his face on the floor.  
  
Crawling to the end of the bed, Cassandra leaned down and rolled him onto his back, giving him a broad smile.  
  
"How do you like being the helpless one, Robert? Not so nice, is it?" She asked. "In case you're wondering how I managed to do that, I should probably tell you that you're married to a fully graduated Witch."  
  
A gurgling sound escaped his throat.  
  
"Why am I doing this to you?" She tilted her head, as if deep in thought. "Well, lets see... one, you beat me up weekly. Two, you let your friends gang bang me. Three, you rape me." Her eyes were darker, more dangerous than he could remember. "Four, you rape me when there are three scared children in the house. Five, you treat me like I'm an animal instead of your wife. Six, you act like I'm nothing more than a shag pillow." She paused to take a breath. "And seven, most importantly, you scare my son, which isn't a good thing to do, since his father was the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world and would kill you for even looking at his Heir's mother the wrong way." She paused for a moment, then added. "Actually, he would just kill you cos he could. He's like that."  
  
Another sound escaped him.  
  
"What? You don't believe that his father's a powerful Wizard? That's your loss." She gave her husband an angelic smile. "All that matters at the moment is that I'm a very good witch and in five minutes time, you're not going to remember a second of this conversation."  
  
He snorted at her.  
  
"Why?" She cheerfully interpreted his noises, much as she had when he was talking to her normally. "Because, my dear husband, you are going to literally be under my spell." She leaned down and dropped a kiss on his nose. "Perhaps I should explain... Witches have power. I have power. I neglected it, because I thought you might change from being an arrogant, self-righteous son of a bitch. You scared and upset my son. The balance changed. Now, I'm the one wearing the pants in this relationship."  
  
Before he could make another futile sound of protest, she casually waved her wand and murmured. "Imperio."  
  
***  
  
In the wake of the casting of Cassandra's imperio spell, life in the Harris household was somewhat more peaceful. Robert was allowed to be as loud and foul-mouthed as he liked, but he couldn't touch her.  
  
Even if he tried to tell someone else what she had done to him, the words would never make it passed his lips.  
  
Alexander didn't seem to have noticed that his adoptive father was suddenly much gentler, but that was only because he still avoided Robert as much as he could without incurring his fury.  
  
Standing at the kitchen door one afternoon, nearly a fortnight after the spell had been cast, she watched her husband sprawling on the sun chair on the veranda, snoring loudly, his mouth open.  
  
She couldn't recall ever seeing him look quite so repulsive.  
  
Wearing plaid shorts and a beer-stained yellow vest, his beer-belly was peeking out from between the two items of clothing, the sun glinting off his sweat-sheened, his receding hairline more prominent than ever.  
  
The trill of the telephone ringing caught her attention and she sighed, turning away from the grotesque lump of muggleness that was her husband.  
  
Making her way back into the cool, dark house, she picked up the phone. "Hello?"  
  
"Shrimpy."  
  
"Ethan!" Sinking down on the arm of the chair beside her, she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. "Is that you?"  
  
"Yeah, its me." Something in his voice was unnerving. "Cass, things are going on. I need to see you."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Your old motel room." His voice was terse. "Come in disguise. If anyone asks, you're visiting Elenor Brody."  
  
"When?"  
  
"As soon as you can."  
  
"And Alex?"  
  
"No. See you there."  
  
The phone went dead and Cassandra shakily placed the receiver down. She knew exactly what he had meant when he said to go in disguise and immediately ran for the stairs, heading to her bedroom.  
  
Alexander was already safe, out with his friends at the park or somewhere. It was summer vacation, which meant he was out of the house a lot more than he usually would be.  
  
Pulling her trunk out from the wardrobe, she found her keys and undid the third lock, revealing a pile of bottles and potions. Reaching down, she found the bottle of Polyjuice Potion that she had stored in case of emergencies.  
  
Shaking, she lifted the bottle out, unscrewing the cap.  
  
Several weeks before, she had managed to get the hairs of one of the neighbours, when their washing machine had 'accidentally' broken and Cassandra had offered to let them use hers.  
  
Their clothing had been delivered and she had managed to snag a stray hair from the pillowcases before they had been washed, adding it to the potion when her husband was under a magic sleeping spell.  
  
Trying not to inhale the bitter fumes of the potion, she quickly swallowed several quick mouthfuls of it and screw the lid back on, before it started to take hold, closing her trunk and locking it.  
  
As soon as the pain hit, she grimaced and waited for the change  
  
***  
  
A short, plump, purple-haired old lady stepped quickly out of the cab, hurrying across the open car park of the motel that had been her home for nearly a year of her life in America.  
  
Reaching the right door, she knocked quickly.  
  
"Who are you hear to see?" A male voice asked.  
  
"Elenor Brody."  
  
The mould-spotted door opened wide enough for her to edge in. Sidling in, she heard the snib lock in place and she looked around in time to see her best friend descended on her, gathering her in his arms.  
  
"Cass..." He whispered, hugging her tightly. "Christ, I missed you."  
  
The voice that came from the wrinkled lips was laced with emotion. "You could have come and visited me sooner, you git." A gasp escaped her and she gripped his upper arms, her vision blurring as she shrank back into her own slender form. "God, I hate polyjuice."  
  
"Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?" Ethan had already scooped her up and carried her over to the bed to sit her down on the mattress. Kneeling at her feet, he squeezed her knees. "How's life been for you, Cass?"  
  
"Don't ask..." Lifting her face to his, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, her cheek pressing against his shoulder. "I don't want to talk about that now. Just shut up and keep me safe, okay?"  
  
The Wizard nodded, stroking her back gently. "That bad, eh?"  
  
It was several minutes before she could form the words to reply to him. "I'd rather be Voldemort's again, Ethan..." Her tears were scalding against his neck. "At least it was only him there..."  
  
"Christ..." She didn't even have to say anything more than that to him, knowing that he understood. "Do you want me to kill him, Cass? I'm an exile. They don't even keep tags on me anymore, so I could do it."  
  
Cassandra laughed faintly. "No, Ethan..." She drew back from him, cupping his face in her small, shaking hands. "I don't want you in any more trouble than you already are." Pressing her brow to his, she forced a smile. "I have it under control now."  
  
"Cass...what have you done?"  
  
She lowered her eyes, then looked back up at him awkwardly. "Just a little imperio... nothing big..."  
  
"Just as long as you don't get hurt, Cass." He cradled her head gently in his large hands. "Promise me you won't let yourself get hurt..."  
  
"I promise, Ethan." She pulled him to her in another hug, his broad arms sliding around her, the first genuine embrace in months that didn't make her want to flee or burst into tears.  
  
"You know I'm here on business, don't you, luv?" He murmured against her temple.  
  
"Just tell me."  
  
Ethan nodded grimly. "He's coming back." Cassandra went rigid in his arms. "They had the Philosopher's Stone at the school...Old Dumbledore was meant to be able to protect it..."  
  
"Please tell me he didn't get to it..."  
  
"No...the Potter boy...James and Lily's son...he stopped him." Cassandra shivered against his chest. "The stone was destroyed, but if Voldemort was strong enough to get into the school..."  
  
"Oh God..." A shuddering sob escaped her. "I had hoped...wished...maybe he would be gone forever..."  
  
Ethan hugged her tighter. "You're safe here, Cass." He whispered, rocking her tenderly as he had when she was a child at Hogwarts. "The Fidelius charm...they'll never find you..."  
  
"I don't care if they find me, Ethan...its Alex I'm worried about."  
  
"He's safe to, luv. As long as the charms in place, you're both safe. I promise and this is one good thing I'm not going to ignore, even if Chaos doesn't approve." He sank back on his heels. "How is the little bugger anyway?"  
  
Cassandra smiled weakly. "As good as he can be in a place like this." She reached down into her pocket and withdrew a packet of photographs. "I thought you might want to see..."  
  
"This kid with the big ears is him, right?"  
  
"Ethan!"  
  
"I was joking, Cass." He laughed, taking the photographs with a smile and looking through them. "He's got your eyes..." He continued through the pile and finally said softly. "He's a beautiful kid."  
  
She nodded with a weak smile. "I know."  
  
Ethan looked up at her. "I won't let anything happen to him, Cassie." He took one of her hand, bringing it down to kiss her palm. "I swear on everything I believe in that I'll give my life for this kid."  
  
"I know you will." Cassandra said softly, leaning forward and putting her arms around his neck. "But, just now, I want your attention, just for a little while..." That said, she tentatively kissed him.  
  
Ethan's hazel eyes widened marginally, before he gathered her to his chest again and returned the kiss. "I loved you when I left, Ethan." She whispered against his cheek, weeping softly once more. "I didn't want to leave you and I...I still love you now..."  
  
Lifting her chin with his hand, Ethan nodded. "I know, luv." He said softly, before kissing her again and letting things follow their true order and the way he wished they had gone since his little lover had become a woman.  
  
***  
  
By mid-afternoon, they shared one last kiss, then he was gone and she had to go home to her beloved son and loathed husband, but with the words of love and strength to continue now. 


	3. Chapter 3 : The Whispers

One Year Later - Chamber of Secrets Time

"But Albus...surely...who?" Leaning against the wall in the hallway outside of the hospital wing, Severus Snape exhaled a shaking breath. 

The petrified form of Colin Creevey, the young Gryffindor first year, had just been found, lying in the darkened halls of the castle by the Head Master, another victim of the creature of the Heir of Slytherin.

The Potions teacher heard Dumbledore's quiet reply. "The questions is not who...the question is how."

"No, Headmaster..." The former Death Eater breathed, straightening up and hastily walking away, his robes flaring about him in the darkness. "It could be who..." He fell silent as he hurried down the long flights of twisting stairways towards the dungeons.

For eleven years, since the fall of the Dark Lord, he had been trying, unsuccessfully, to convince himself to inform someone, anyone, about the fact that Voldemort did - indeed - have an Heir somewhere.

His footsteps sounded deafening in the silent dungeons, as he walked swiftly onwards. His classroom and office awaited him, his sanctuary and hiding place.

When he entered the small, dark room that served as his office, he pushed the door shut, sliding the bolts at the top and bottom of the door into place, adding a sealing charm for security, before sinking down wearily at his desk.

His elbows propped on the lined surface of the desk, he buried his head in his hands, closing his eyes. Once again, he was forced to resort to mental debates, in a vain attempt to keep himself sane.

If Voldemort's Heir was attending Hogwarts, they would only be in their first year now. They would probably have been in Slytherin, but none of the new arrivals there had the potential for the dark arts that would befit a true Heir of the Dark Lord.

If he or she was not in that house, there was always the chance that it would be in Hufflepuff, following the legacy of it's mother, but - as usual - the Hufflepuff first years were hardly anything to brag about.

Running his hands through his hair, Snape sat back with a heavy sigh, the back of his head coming to rest against the high back of his chair. He steepled his fingers together in front of him, tapping his chin with the tip of his forefingers.

There was always the chance that the heir had ended up attending another Wizarding academy, but - somehow - Snape suspected that Slytherin's latest heir was unlikely to go anywhere but the school that Slytherin himself had built.

Again, it came down to the self-recriminations.

He should have informed the Ministry of the situation regarding Cassandra Bones. He should have explained all that had occured in Malfoy's dungeons. He should have helped the poor child in some way.

Child.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

She was barely younger than he was when she was brought before them and their Master, barely graduated from wizarding school, and yet, she - like he - had been cursed with belonging to the dark Lord.

Maybe she had heeded his words, as he had placed the blood vow on her. If she had retained any sense of self and pride in her life, she would have and escaped, taking the poor mite of a child with her.

Merlin only knew that the poor child would be a cursed one in the Wizarding World, thanks to the Legacy of the father. 

Even if the little one proved to be a good and true Hufflepuff in breeding, loyal, patient and hard-working, it's father's mark would be as visible on the child as the dark mark was on his Death Eaters.

However, some of the situations that had been occuring of late in the castle had raised his guard. If the Chamber of Secrets truly had been opened once again, who could it be but an Heir of Slytherin himself?

No one, as far as he knew, was a Parselmouth.

No one had been, since Tom Riddle...Voldemort.

Rumours that he had heard in the circle of Death Eaters suggested that - to open the chamber of secrets - meant that you had to have the ability to speak Parseltongue, which only raised more questions.

Sighing, he shook his head. Puzzling over it would not help. No Hufflepuff would willingly have her child turned into a Dark Wizard and she had never been seen since the day Voldemort had vanished, not even among the remaining Death Eaters.

If the worst came to the worst, he knew he could inform Dumbledore, but until the child actually appeared and implied that he intended to destroy the known wizarding and muggle world, there was little Snape could do.

Without the proof - in other words, the child - there was nothing he could do at all.

It was just a matter of waiting.

***

"Alex, hurry up!"

There was the sound of her eleven year old son clattering down the stairs. She looked around as he hopped into the kitchen, still trying to tug his sneaker onto his left foot, the laces of the one on his right foot flapping on the floor.

"Do you want any breakfast?"

"Do I have time, mom?"

Cassandra glanced at the clock. "Maybe a pop tart." She suggested with a grin, one of the aforementioned breakfast foods popping up out of the toaster. Snatching it, she tossed it from hand to hand, then to Alex. "Everything you need is in your rucksack."

"Thanks mom!" Pecking her quickly on the cheek, the dark-haired boy turned and ran straight back through the living room to the front door, his voice carrying back to her before the door closed. "Love you, mom!"

Chuckling, Cassandra turned back to the kitchen, which she was in the middle of tidying. As usual, Alex had slept in, despite numerous alarm clocks positioned around his room and her calls up to him.

Despite insisting his new years resolution was that he was going to get up early for school every day, he hadn't managed it in the three weeks since term had restarted after the Christmas vacation.

Today was a particularly bad day.

It was only when she had put the video of one of his favourite movies in the player and turned up the volume that he had actually got up, then realised the time and started panicking about being late.

Not that he cared about school.

Alex, being Alex, only went because he could hang out with Willow and Jesse. No doubt, poor Willow would be sitting between them for their test this afternoon and they would come out with decent grades as well.

The two boys had developed a code over the years of their friendship and could take it in turns to spy on their red-haired friend's papers, then tell each other the answers through hand gestures and small actions, like yawns and sneezes.

Beyond the dark-green kitchen door, the living room door clicked shut and Cassandra hummed to herself as she washed the dishes from the previous evening, bubbles and warm water up to her elbows.

"Cass."

A shriek of fright escaped her, a plate slipping from her fingers and shattering on the floor as she whipped around. "Who is it?"

"Just me." Ethan's head appeared, bobbing in mid-air. Before he could get the rest of the invisibility cloak off, Cassandra had thrown herself into his arms and was scattering kisses all over his face, her bubble-covered arms around him. 

"You bloody git!" She cried, half-laughing, half-sobbing, claiming a brief, hard kiss. "What are you doing here? You scared me half to death!" The look on her lover's face made her pause, though. "Ethan?"

"Something's up, Cass." He replied tersely, looking around. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Upstairs - the attic is safe." She replied, quickly, towelling her hands and motioning for him to follow her. 

They ran up the stairs and she pulled the attic ladder down, both of the scrambling up and coming to rest in the stuffy room, the dim light filtering through a dirty window. Sitting down on one of the crates, she motioned for him to do the same, as he shrugged the cloak off.

"What is it?"

"The Chamber of Secrets." He replied quietly, his face tight with anxiety.

"What about it?"

The wizard looked down at his folded hands, then back at her. "Its open, Cass."

"But...but it can't be, can it?" She gave him a puzzled look. "That's impossible...You Know Who is gone...I would know if he was back...he's Slytherin's Heir..." A determined look crossed her face. "He can't be back."

"I know, Cass, but all the same, its been opened." Ethan replied, staring straight at her. He looked a lot older and tireder than she remembered. "I've been over it in my head a dozen times and I can't work out what or who is doing it."

The blonde witch ran her hands through her hair. "I...he can't be back, Ethan...he just can't be... and no one else could open it... he told me...only Parselmouths... they're the only ones who can open it... he..."

"What did you say?" Ethan started.

"He can't be back."

"No...about parselmouths."

Cassandra shrugged. "They're the only ones who could open it. He was a parselmouth and he kept whispering to me in that language...thought it was...sexy...he told me those were the words to open the chamber..words only a parsel...Ethan?"

"There is another one..."

"Parselmouth?" The witch paled. "You...you think he had another Heir?"

Ethan's laugh was strained. "Here's the irony." He said. "The Parselmouth at Hogwarts...its none other than Harry Potter." Cassandra stared at him in confusion. "Something tells me that he wouldn't be the one setting the Monster of Slytherin on people." "But how...?"

The wizard shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, Cass." He replied wearily. "The boy is in Gryffindor, but it keeps everyone off our trail for a while." Cassandra jolted at his words. "And yes, that's why I'm here."

"How do you know all this is happening, Ethan?"

Ethan gave her a watery grin that she remembered very well. "I have a spy at Hogwarts...a very reliable spy, who knows I'm protecting something, but doesn't know what." She gave him a suspicious look. "Flitwick. I never lost touch with the old fellow."

"And he told you all this?"

"He's been keeping me up to date on everything that has been happening." The wizard ran his fingers through his unruly brown curls. "They've had some people petrified, but no fatalities so far. Potter transpired to be a Parselmouth, so he became the prime suspect, but I don't believe that anymore than I believe that McGonogall would go to a Disco."

Cassandra couldn't help grinning at that image, but it faded quickly. "What about the Death Eaters? Have you heard anything about any of them?"

"Actually, yes." He glanced around, as if checking for spies. "Apparently Dumbledore has a former Death Eater on the staff at the..."

"WHAT?!?" Cassandra was on her feet in a heartbeat. "Bloody hell, Ethan! They have a Death Eater actually working at Hogwarts and you're wondering who would be able to open the Chamber of Secrets..."

"A former Death Eater, Cass." He rose, laying his hands on her shoulders and gently forcing her to sit again. "Old Flitwick trusted me not to say anything to anyone else, but I have to tell you. He was a spy for the Ministry until the fall. You Know Who didn't even know."

Huge brown eyes stared up at him fearfully. "I'm not liking the sound of this..." She whispered hoarsely. "Who was it?"

"I-I shouldn't say."

"Ethan."

He looked away. "Severus Snape."

"Snape...oh God...no...no, he can't be...he would have told them about me by now..." She stared at him frantically. "It was him! I knew I recognised his voice! I knew it...I didn't put two and two together..."

"What are you babbling about?" Ethan face was etched with concern.

"The blood vow." A shaking hand ran over her face and she shook her head. "Ethan, he was there..." Her voice was shaking so badly he could barely understand her. "He knows who I am and what Alex is...a spy...a spy for the light side...they know Voldemort has an Heir...he knows who I am..."

The older Wizard's face seemed to drain of blood, his throat dry and clicking as he tried to swallow. "Shit..."

"Bloody understatement of the year...oh God...what if they try and take Alex?" Tears spilled down her pale face. "What if they find us? If he's told the Ministry, they'll be after us...and the Fidelius thing can't fool all of them..."

Her best friend and lover gathered her quickly in his arms, hugging her tightly. "That'll never happen, Cass." He whispered, kissing her brow. "Flitwick didn't say anything about them knowing about an Heir. If they find out, I'll be the first to know outside of the school and I'll let you know before they can even think about starting to look for you."

"But if things get too bad, Ethan..." She pulled back, staring wildly up at him. "If he comes back, he's not going to let his Heir go undiscovered and by then, the light siders would be looking for us too." 

"Only if Snape cracks."

"And do you think he will?"

The wizard sighed, sitting down and lifting her into his lap as he had so many times before. "If I remember Snape right, the only person he would tell anything like this to is Dumbledore. He hated the Ministry as much as we do."

"But what if he does, Ethan?" She was shivering painfully. "The Ministry is powerful...they could put out a Muggle alert for me and - even if the Fidelius spell affects Wizards - it won't affect muggles...they could find us that way..."

"Don't be so negative, Cass." He said quietly. "If the worst comes to the worst, I could always contact Severus."

"Y-you knew him?"

Ethan smirked. "Where do you think I got my supplies for my naughty potions?" He inquired, his eyes dancing. "He had a veritible black market of illegal supplies running during his time at Hogwarts for those who knew where and when to get to it."

"But he...I thought he was Slytherin..."

"Not all Slytherins were bad, Cass." His hand was moving softly on her tangled blonde hair as he spoke, his voice quiet. "I actually got on reasonably well with him, when he wasn't putting together dark potions."

"This coming from a demon-worshipper?" She tried to make it sound glib, but failed.

"Trust me on this, Cass. Some of the things he could produce even went beyond my code of loose ethics." He sighed. "Poor Severus. He got roped into the Death Eater Squad by those Slytherins who picked on you so much."

"Do...do you think you could ask him not to tell anyone, Ethan? Please?"

A grin crossed Ethan's face. "I'm sure I could." He replied, still holding her close to his broad chest. "Its been a while since I paid dear old Sevvie a visit and I do actually need a new stock of tail of roachworms."

"You and your weird ingredients." Cassandra muttered.

"Of course."

"How will you contact him?"

The wizard sighed, rocking her gently. "I'll apparate across to Salt Lake City." He replied. "I'm sure I'll find some fireplace I can use to contact him there."

"Salt Lake City?" She echoed skeptically. "Are you sure that's the right kind of place?"

Ethan's grin was contagious. "Luv, I don't know what tourist books you've been reading, but every single person in that city is a witch or wizard. Its the American version of Hogsmeade and its only weird because of that, which is why muggles find it so amusing. They think it's for other reasons."

"A confundus charm on the whole city, eh?"

"How did you guess?"

She reached up to kiss him on the cheek. "Let's just say that I'm picking up some sneaky habits and things from you, Ethan." Her fingers loosened the buttons of his shirt, as their lips met briefly and she stroked her other hand through his curly hair.

"Luv, we shouldn't..." He protested feebly as his shirt slid off his shoulders and he let it fall to the floor. "What about your husband?"

Brown eyes met green. "I don't give a damn about him, Ethan." She replied softly, pausing only to peel off her T-shirt, his hands going behind her and flicking the hooks of her bra free in a matter of seconds.

Straddling his lap, she claimed his mouth in a fierce kiss, her bare breasts pressing hard against his chest. His hands spread on her smooth back, holding her firmly to him as he started to kiss his way down her neck.

Somehow, the Wizard managed to stand, his hands hooked under her jean-clad buttocks and lift her, her legs and arms around him, then climb down the ladder from the attic and walk the length of the hall to the bedroom.

Placing her on the bed, he had gazed down at her for several long moments, until she raised her hands to him in invitation and he joined her, their lips meeting again, as she whispered. "I love you."

In the soft warmth of the South California winter morning, the couple made love together for the first time in over a year. Followed by the second, third and fourth time, both weeping for the need and relief of being together once more.

In the warm security of her lover's arms, as afternoon approached, Cassandra fell asleep, murmuring happily.

Rising as she slept and kissing her closed eyes tenderly, Ethan whispered a soft "I love you" before dressing and disapparating.

***

"Mom, I'm home!"

The house was silent, which struck Alexander as very strange. He looked around the living room and kitchen, but there was no sign of his dad anywhere. Everything was neat, orderly and...silent.

Normally, mom would be waiting for him.

"Mom?"

Tossing his rucksack on the couch, he ran up the stairs, getting more worried when no reply came. She was usually so obsessional abouty making sure he got home okay that it was weird not to find her watching for him from the window.

Even napping on the couch.

She had never not been there before.

"Mom?"

The bathroom was empty with no sign that anyone had been in there since he had left for school that morning. Scratching his head, his hair more mussed than usual, he made his way towards his parents' bedroom.

Normally, he avoided it, in case dad was about, but if mom was in trouble...

Nervously, he pushed the door open and peered around, a sigh of relief escaping him. 

His mother was in the large bed, curled up under a sheet, one arm bent up under her head and she looked more peaceful than she had in a long time. Her golden hair was spread around her like a cloud and she was smiling in her sleep.

He started to close the door, but a squeak from the hinge made her stir and she opened her eyes, squinting at him sleepily. "Alex?"

"Mom? Are you okay?"

A broad, lazy smile spread across her face and she sat up, holding the sheet against her upper body. "I'm great, honey." She replied, extending her right arm and laughing as he ran to her and hugged her. "I was just a little tired."

"You look real happy." He noted, sitting down on the mattress beside her.

"I guess I just needed to get some rest, or something, sweetie." She smiled fondly at him, mussing his hair with her fingers. He swatted at her hand, grinning back at her. "So, how did the test go?" 

"Willow aced it, which means I didn't do too bad." He replied, an impish look on his face. "If I do bad, its only cos Jesse can't remember the difference between the codes for the multiple choice papers."

"And you didn't make it too obvious?"

"Mom!" He looked almost offended that she would imply such a thing. "I'm a professional!"

"So how many did you not copy?"

"Enough so I can pass, but get away with it without looking like I was copying from Will." He looked around when the doorbell rang. "I guess that's Jesse and Willow..." He looked at his mother with concern. "You going to be okay, mom?"

"I'll be fine, sweetie. You go and have fun with your friends."

He nodded and darted out of the room, pulling the door closed as he went. Cassandra smiled fondly as he thundered down the long flight of stairs and she heard the front door crash shut behind him.

Lying back on the bed, she arched her slim body sleekly, the white sheet silky and cool against the contours of her body. She felt satisfied, content and pleased with herself for the first time in months.

"Love you, Ethan." She murmured to the air, before drowsily letting herself fall asleep again.

***

"Good evening."

Snape almost yelled in fright, whirling around, papers scattering from his desk with the draught from his cape. A muffled obscenity slipped passed his lips and he stared down at the fire in sheer astonishment. "Ethan Rayne?"

"One in the same, Sev." The face in the flames flashed a familiar smirk at him. "Got time to have a visitor?"

"Here?"

"In Hogwarts?" Snape nodded. "No. Not secure." The face looked around furtively. "Do you remember the old farmhouse where we used to meet, just outside Hogsmeade?" Snape nodded an affirmative at the code. "There in no less than five-sixteenths by the second highest twenty-fourth nine."

There was a popping sound and Ethan's head vanished from the flames, but Snape was still staring at the flames in shock.

Ethan Rayne.

It had been a dog's age since they had seen each other. 

Since he had gone to the dark side and Ethan had gone demon-follower.

Recalling what the wizard had said, he groaned. 

Trust Ethan to give him less than ten minutes to get from Hogwarts to the hidden and little-known back room of Honeydukes, where he used to sell his rare - and occasionally extremely illegal - ingredients for potions.

Leaving papers scattered across the floor, he swung his travel cloak off a hook, pulling it on as he ran into the darkened hallways, his footsteps sounding deafening to him as he hurried towards the main doors.

The moonlight was slanting in through high windows that lined the walls, gleaming on the checked floor of the hall and he pulled the huge, heavy main door open, slipping out of the gap into the grounds.

His feet flew as he ran across the open ground, aware that he had probably been spotted by at least Filch, and - if not him - Professor Dumbledore. It was certainly going to take some explaining when he returned.

Sneaking out at midnight, running around like a lunatic...

He could always claim it was part of a new fitness regime.

Or that he had lost the plot.

Why was he even bothering with Ethan Rayne and his call? 

Because they were old school 'chums'? No. They had never been that friendly. Because it would be a chance to reminisce about the good, old days? Emphatically not. For one thing, there had been no good old days to reminisce about. Because of what then?

He couldn't say.

Panting, he realised he had reached the edge of the grounds of the school and - with great relief - disapparated. 

He apparated straight to the hidden room of the closed sweet shop, the basement in pitch darkness. Reaching for his wand, he felt a hand grab at his shoulder and tried not to jump with the surprise. "Ethan?"

"Sev."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was shopping?" Snape snorted. "That would be a no, then."

"Can't we have some light, Ethan? I know you, you know me - do we need the darkness?"

He heard a chuckle. "Still scared of the dark, eh, Sev?" Fabric rustled behind him and he heard a whisper of a spell. The tip of a wand lit up near his face and he turned, squinting at the Wizard behind him. 

The crates, boxes and dusty shelves of the sweet shop above them were put on display by the soft, fuzzy, white light glowing at the tip of the taller wizard's wand, a mouse or two scuttling away into the shadows.

"Better?"

"A little." Snape muttered, trying not to show his relief. As Ethan had noted, the greasy-haired wizard was afraid of the dark, especially when he was uncertain of his surroundings and the threat they posed.

Hardly surprising, considering his previous career choice.

"What are you doing here, Ethan?"

The sandy-haired Wizard moved around to sit on a crate opposite the Potions Master. "A friend asked me to come and have a word with you." He replied quietly. His expression was grave. "You know something that could put all of us in serious danger."

"Us? A friend? Who?"

Ethan held up a hand. "You were a Death Eater, Sev." He said quietly. Snape shook his head, his mouth suddenly dry. Only a couple of the other teaching staff were meant to know that. It was a closely guarded secret. "I know you were."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ethan."

"Don't waste both our times by lying, Sev. I have it on good authority that you were." There was no judgement in Ethan's green eyes. "The fact is that I know you spied for the ministry as well." Snape swallowed hard. "You didn't tell them everything you know, did you?"

"What are you talking about?"

Ethan did not reply, withdrawing a small blade from his pocket and piercing his left palm with it. A horrified look crossed the Potions Master's face, recognising what his former associate was doing, his face paling.

"Stop."

Turning his hand over, Ethan watched a drop of scarlet trickle down his palm and drip onto a small goblet in his hand. "Hmm?"

"Ethan, stop it."

Green eyes rose. "Do you remember what this is, Sev?" He murmured.

"N-no."

"Don't lie, Sev. I'm only making sure of something, before I blab my secrets to you."

Snape lowered his head, his hands shaking. He turned his own left hand over and stared at the faded scar on the centre of his palm. "The opening phase of making the Death Eaters Blood Vow." He muttered.

"So it was you!" Relief flooded Ethan's taut face. Snape looked up, confused. "Listen, Sev, this is very important. You remember little Cassie Bones, the blonde runt I looked after when I was at school?"

"How could I forget?" A look of distaste curled his lip. "She was the one that all the Slytherins were told to pick on."

"And..."

"You already know, so why do I need to tell you?"

"Know what?" Snape groaned, realising that it wasn't about to be made easy for him.

"That she went to You Know Who." Ethan raised a brow and the Potions Master quailed under the cool expression. "All right, she was taken to You Know Who. I still don't see why I should care about this."

"Because you made a blood vow, whether you wanted to or not." Ethan said quietly, his eyes fixed on Snape's face which had gone rigid. "You vowed to protect her and the child Voldemort left her with."

Snape's mouth was bone dry. "I-I...how could you know?"

"Because she told me, Sev." Ethan's voice was low and quiet. "She put a name to a voice and she asked me to come and see you."

"She's alive? And safe?"

The hopeful look in Snape's eyes drew a small smile from Ethan. "She's fine, Sev." He replied softly. "She and her son are living in secret, but I've been keeping her informed of what has been going on in our world." Green eyes met black. "She wants you to know that she took your advice and she wants you to pretend to know nothing about Alex. She wants him to be raised as a normal little boy."

"Normal? The son of You Know Who?"

"Lets say that the poor kid is definitely blessed with his mother's looks." Ethan chuckled. "He's harmless and would never dream of using magic. All Cas wants to know is that the Ministry won't show up one day and throw him into Azkaban."

Snape nodded. "I don't blame her for wishing it to be so." He remarked. "That's why I hadn't told anyone before. I hoped she would have taken my advice...its a relief to know she is safe, after all."

"So no one knows about her?"

"Only the other surviving Death Eaters." Snape replied, rubbing his cool hands together. "I don't think they would be too keen to run around telling everyone, until they knew they had either the father or the son to lead them."

Ethan's relief was palpable. "Alex would never do that, so unless old You Know Who manages to come back, you're safe." Snape nodded. "Do you think he will?"

"You do know what happened here last year, don't you?"

"The incident with the Philosopher's Stone?"

Snape's expression tightened. "Dumbledore didn't let too many details out beyond the staff, but its impossible not to say that Voldemort must be regaining strength, if he was able to possess young Quirrel's body."

"And what on earth is going on with young Potter?"

The Potions Master's lip curled. "He's far too similar to his father, that boy. He's broken almost every school rule in the last year and a half and its just like James and that bloody werewolf. Dumbledore thinks he's marvellous and when Dumbledore thinks that, nothing anyone can say will change his mind." Ethan nodded sympathetically. 

Potter and his little group - while younger than Ethan - had been the bane of any normal pupil's existance. They were popular, witty, good-looking - in other words, the very kind of people who annoyed the ones who were either too tall or too greasy or too interested in demon-worship. 

It was only made worse because the quartet could get away with anything, anything at all.

"Is it true that he's a Parselmouth?"

"Indeed." Snape's thin lips curled in a cold grin. "That was a bit of a nasty surprise for old Dumbledore. He had to have a chat with the Sorting Hat, who admitted it only didn't put Potter in Slytherin because Potter asked to be put somewhere else."

"That's odd..."

"That's Potter." Snape's voice was bitter. "I can't help hoping that the Monster of Slytherin will catch up with him next."

"But that would be far too obvious a target, unless it is You Know Who controlling it." Ethan leaned on his knees thoughtfully. "You know, you're going to have to keep me updated with everything that's going on here...especially dark rumours."

"So you can protect Bones and her baby?"

"Not so much a baby now, but yes." Ethan smiled faintly. 

Snape fingered his dark, dusty robes for a few moments, a brief silence descending. "May I ask you something, Ethan?" The older wizard nodded, motioning for him to do so. "What is he like? The boy?"

"I've only seen him in passing. He's a strong, resilient little sod." He groped in his capricious pockets for his wallet, withdrawing a picture that he had absconded with from Cassandra's dressing table. In it, Cassandra had her dark-haired son wrapped up in a hug and they were both laughing. "He's almost twelve already..."

Snape took the picture, illuminating his own wand and staring at the motionless picture in astonishment. "This is him?" He asked, shaking his head. The boy looked frighteningly normal, with unruly black hair, sparkling brown eyes and a broad grin. "This is You Know Who's son?"

"Surprising, isn't it?" Ethan murmured. "I thought you might want to see it so you know what and who you'll be protecting, before I have to destroy it. I can't risk any dark siders getting a hold of it or finding them."

"And he doesn't do any magic?"

"None." 

Snape nodded, then handed the photograph back. "Good." He said firmly. "You tell her I won't reveal her secret as long as she keeps herself concealed. The child deserves to be free from the curse of his father."

"And if You Know Who returns?"

"I know nothing. I saw nothing. I haven't seen her since she fled."

"Thank you." Ethan ofered a hand, which Snape shook. "I don't care what anyone else says about you, Sev, you're a good man."

"And you're a complete lunatic." Snape replied with a faint smile. 

"Nice to know that I haven't been forgotten." Ethan chuckled. "Now, though, we both better go. Dumbledore'll be waiting for you, no doubt and I need to get out of the country again. It'll be safer for me to get gone while I still can."

Snape nodded, rising and smoothing his dust-streaked robes down. "Good luck to you, Ethan. I can't help thinking you'll need it."

"Likewise, Sev." They clasped hands oncemore. "Keep safe and don't do anything stupid."

"Like poisoning Potter?"

"Exactly." They exchanged wry smiles, then - in a heartbeat - the basement of the small shop was empty.


	4. Chapter 4 : The Prisoner

One Year Later - "The Prisoner of Azkaban"

"Sirius Black has escaped."

The silence that followed the announcement by Professor Dumbledore in the staff room was one of stunned horror. The full staff of Hogwarts had been called back urgently that morning and all of them were curious why. 

"Fudge is about to inform the press and contact the correct Muggle sources," The old Wizard continued heavily, looking more exhausted than he had for a long time. "But I thought it best that I should inform you, particularly considering who we have studying here."

Each member of staff reacted differently, most shocked and some looking scared. The Headmaster didn't miss the range of emotions passing over each face, but his attention was centrally on the Potions Master.

Snape's thin lips were pressed together in a narrow line, his black eyes revealing nothing, his sallow-skinned hands gripping the arms of the chair he was sitting on until it looked like the knuckles were going to thrust through his flesh.

"How?" McGonogall was the first to speak, her voice hoarse. "No one has ever escaped from Azkaban before, Albus...how is it possible?"

"I wish I knew, Minerva...perhaps dark magic...maybe he had aid..." Dumbledore laid his hands in his lap and sighed. "Alas, all we can do now is wait until he is either recaptured and returned to his prison or..." His eyes were on Snape's face. "Executed."

The Potions Master stared neutrally back at him, but – inside – his stomach was churning and his heart doing flips. He couldn't say if he was pleased about it or guilty about letting the man he knew was innocent go to his death.

Discussions sprang up around the room, most being spoken in hushed voices, as if afraid that Black would overhear them. The genuine fear permeating the room was making the dark-haired, pale-faced teacher feel physically ill.

He said nothing. Did less.

He could feel his nails scraping painfully into the solid wood of the arms of his chairs, his teeth grinding together. Dumbledore was watching him, he knew. He could feel the usually calm, twinkling blue eyes fixed on his averted face.

The Head Master knew something was amiss.

He could not prove it or say for certain what it was, but he knew that something about Sirius Black was amiss. Snape kept his eyes turned away, knowing that if he met that tranquil, searching gaze, he would reveal the truth and he did not wish to do so.

After all, it was his vengeance.

After what seemed like an uncomfortable eternity, the aged Headmaster slowly got to his feet and looked around at the assembled staff. 

"Perhaps," He murmured quietly, but was still heard by everyone. "We should continue these debates by the light of day. We may be able to see clearer and I know my head has a peculiar longing for a pillow now."

Nods went around the silent room and Severus reluctantly acknowledged the casual look in his direction, meeting Dumbledore's blue eyes for as short a moment as was possible without looking more suspicious than he already did.

The staff started dispersing from the room, no doubt on their way to their various chambers in their respective towers and cellars, still talking in low voices to one another as they moved off in groups or pairs.

Snape was halfway out of the door, when a voice called.

"Severus."

Pausing, his hand on the doorframe, splinters cutting into his skin, the Potions Master glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, Headmaster?" He was impressed by how calm and steady his voice seemed to sound.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Damn him.

How could he always tell?

"N-no. Nothing I can think of, Headmaster." 

The Headmaster took a slow step towards him and nodded, age-spotted hands folded in front of his body. "Very well, Severus." His voice suggested that he knew there was something, but he was not going to push for it. "Perhaps I could talk with you tomorrow?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave him a searching look, then nodded once. "Very well." He said quietly. "Good night, Severus."

Stepping out of the room, Snape heaved a sigh of relief as he started down the long halls towards his office and sleeping quarters.

Concealed by the lengthening shadows from the high windows, his hurried footsteps on the stone floors were the only things that even suggested he was there, his robes pulled close around him, swishing softly.

Reaching one of the passages that opened into a short cut to his office, he ran a hand over the head of a statue of a small Satyr. It hopped to one side and the wall behind it opened into the dimly lit passage.

Illuminating his wand, he stepped into the passage and hurried onwards, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking. All he wanted was to be as far from Dumbledore's questioning gaze as he possibly could.

Within minutes, he had reached the other end of the passage and slid down the small chute and through a portrait hole that had opened up, landing in the corridor just outside of his silent and familiar office.

Entering and reinforcing the combination of muggle and magical locks, he leaned back against the door with a low groan, sinking down the thick wooden panels to the floor, the back of his head resting against the wood.

He could and should have told them that Black wasn't a Death Eater and never had been. He had known them all, by name, by face and by voice, in spite of the masks and various disguises that they donned.

However, while he knew that Black innocent of most of the crimes he had been jailed for, he also knew there were crimes that no one knew of, crimes that validated his silence regarding the now-free prisoner.

Undoing the cuffs of his dress robes, he reluctantly pushed them up, over his bone-thin wrists, a look of distaste crossing his features as he tilted them into the light of the single candle that burned in the wall above his head.

They would never fade, he knew.

The scars.

His right fingers brushed over the thin stripes on his left wrist, marks he had inflicted upon himself daily, every single year that he had attended Hogwarts, after suffering Black's... humourous torment.

That was the fact that was ignored about Black.

He was a bully.

A cruel, vindictive bully.

Snape sighed, closing his eyes. He had been one of Black's favourite victims, because he was smaller than average and – despite knowing a vast array of curses and potions – was simply not strong enough to outdo the larger youth.

He had started cutting himself in the middle of their first year, as a pressure vent. His parents would have literally cursed him senseless if he had been expelled, so he had found a kind of relief in harming himself instead of harming Black.

Not that anyone in Slytherin House had noticed.

Of course, it was the only way any of the non-Death-Eaters and goodie-goodies could fight with and torment the Junior league of Death Eaters, without Voldemort cheerfully walking in and wiping them all out.

Stirring himself, Snape slowly levered himself to his feet and approached his desk, sitting down in the hard-backed seat. His hands came to rest on the desk, his memory drifting back to his final years at the school.

He wasn't any more popular than he had been in first year. He wasn't the only one being picked on by Black or other Witches and Wizards from the other three houses. He wasn't the only one that had resorted to self-harm as a way of escaping it.

He was, however, the one who found Lazing.

The young Slytherin Witch had been another potions adept and one of the few people who had spoken to him willingly, often asking for aid from him with her potions, not ashamed to admit mistakes and learn from her betters.

Here was another of Black's favourite toys.

She hadn't said anything about it to anyone. No one ever did, for fear of it getting worse.

Sixteen-year-old Severus had entered the common room one winter morning, on his way to the potions lab to begin work early, only to find her slumped in a chair in front of the fireplace, her eyes glazed, her body limp. 

The young Witch, a barely fourteen-year-old little girl, had been driven to taking poison to escape the torment of the older Gryffindors.

Snape had gone into shock. The only person he could truly regard as a friend had killed herself and he had been too blind to even notice that she had been going through the same thing as he had.

That seemed to be when Dumbledore had realised that – perhaps – he was being too liberal with his house and the bullying was cut down dramatically, but it was too late to bring little Catrina Lazing back.

That was also when Snape realised that he hated – really, truly and from the bottom of his heart and soul, despised – Sirius Black.

When Black had been arrested, he cheered along with the rest of the Slytherins who had been tormented by the handsome Gryffindor. 

Many older Witches and Wizards wondered what could have changed the charming youth, but none of the people of his own age group and none of his teachers doubted that he wouldn't have been capable of killing so many muggles.

Now, though, he was loose.

No doubt he would find some way to prove his innocence.

He always had an irritating ability to dodge the blame and it was only blind luck and – Snape had to grudgingly admit – Peter Pettigrew's imagination that got him caught. The fact that Pettigrew had died was rather unfortunate, though.

Snape would have liked to have shaken his hand.

Shaking his head, Snape got to his feet again and wandered across the silent to lean on the mantelpiece. It had always been his favourite spot for thinking and, glancing down at the ashes, a thought came to him.

Ethan.

What if he heard the news and relayed it onto young Bones?

She would know for a fact that Black was not one of her captors. In fact, she – along with him – was probably one of the only people who knew every Death Eater's name. She had been a smart one, little Bones.

That raised the question, though, what would she do?

She might tell Ethan the truth - that Black had gone to Azkaban for twelve years for a crime he did not commit. It wouldn't make much difference though. If Ethan emerged, claiming Black was innocent, no one would believe him, a demon worshipper.

The Potions Master let a wry grin cross his face. 

Unless by some miracle, Pettigrew was alive and could come forward and admit he had framed Black, not even the word of Cassandra Bones, mother of Voldemort's Heir, would convince anyone.

He glanced at the mantel clock. It was passed midnight already. His gaze drifted to his desk, where sheets of parchment and his quills lay. Perhaps he would have time to contact Ethan and let him know what was happening.

Or, perhaps, he should wait he had spoken to Dumbledore the next morning.

Maybe that way he could provide some more information for the illusive demon-worshipper and Lady Voldemort.

***

"Oh and me and Jesse are in the 'I hate Cordelia' club. Willow's going to be the secretary! She doesn't know yet, though." Speaking enthusiastically around a mouthful of waffles, Alexander grinned up at his mother. 

Cassandra raised a brow. "Cordelia? Who is she?"

"Cordelia Chase." He elaborated, pulling a face. "Her dad's that real rich guy and they live in the big house just outta town."

"Ah, the wonderful Miss Chase." The blonde Witch murmured. "I remember you mentioning her...oh...about twenty times in the last hour and a half." She gave her son a knowing smile. "Is she pretty?"

"Ew! No! Anyway, girls have cooties!"

Cassandra reached over and mussed his hair. "I thought you might say that." She replied, getting to her feet and carrying the late-breakfast dishes to the sink. "What are you going to do today? Anything interesting?"

"Me and Jesse are going to try and get Willow to come to the water park with us cos Jesse's dad said he'd take us." He looked disgusted. "She says she's got work to do for school! We don't even go back until tomorrow and she's already doing work."

"At least she's organised." Cassandra laughed at her son's expression.

"Yeah, but its only school!"

"Quit shoutin'." A deep voice grumbled from the door, both Alexander and Cassandra whipping around to see Robert Harris standing there, scowling darkly at both of them. "Alex, get your ass outside and mow the lawn."

"But, dad..." Alexander fell silent as his step-father shot a warning look at him.

"Robert, he's going out with Jesse today to the water park. I can mow the lawn." Cassandra hurried around the counter and stepped in front of her son. Her husband stared down at her, eyes bulging with anger.

"He's my son as well, Cassie." He snarled, his eyes suggesting that she try and argue with that point and – inadvertedly – reveal the truth to her son. "I'll damn well tell him what to do, if I want to."

"Robert, its the last day of his vacation!"

"And he should spend it doing something useful to earn his keep around this house. Al he does round here is eat and take up too much space." Dark, piggy eyes stared bitterly at the dark-haired boy. "We should have had him adopted."

"Don't you EVER say that!" Cassandra hissed, her eyes blazing.

Alexander touched her shoulder. "Mom, its okay."

"No, its not, Alex." Cassandra looked up at her husband. "You go and I'll do the lawn, okay?"

"You step out of that door and you'll regret it, my boy!"

"Go, Alex!"

"Mom..."

"I said GO!"

The young boy sprinted for the door, leaving his mother to face off against his massive and furious father. He heard his father yell a string of obscenities as the door crashed shut behind him and his mother's voice screaming back just as loudly.

Tears were stinging in his eyes as he reached the main path and started running. He told himself it was because he was running so fast and because the wind was hurting his eyes, but he knew that was a lie.

More than anything, he wished he could walk back into the house and magically make his father disappear and then he and his mom would be fine. There wouldn't be anymore fighting or bruises or crying.

All he needed was a little bit of magic and everything would be all right.

***

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Cassandra winced, fingering the latest bruise that had swollen her right eye so much that she could barely open it.

Yes, she had her husband constantly under a controlling imperio spell, but occasionally, just occasionally, he could break through, especially when he was as furiously angry as he had been this morning.

Fortunately, though, he was so stupid he never realised that he had done so.

Lifting a cool, damp cloth from the sink, she pressed it against her eye, hissing through her teeth at the sensation. Part of her wished she had the physical strength to return the blow, but she knew that would never happen.

It was times like that that she was tempted to use another of the unforgivable curses.

Especially when her foolish lout of a husband threatened her precious son.

He could scream at her as often as he liked, hit her on occasion, abuse her once in a blue moon, but he could not – he simply could NOT – be allowed to harm or even threaten her beautiful, darling boy.

Cassandra's gaze drifted down to the mahogony wand that was resting beside the basin. It stayed with her at all times for the sole reason that she did not trust her husband as far as she could throw him.

Picking it up, she bent, quickly rolling the right leg of her jeans up to her knee. Twin straps were fastened around her calf and she carefully slotted the wand into them and secured it there, to prevent it from being found.

With it concealed, she smoothed her jeans down, checked her eye once more, then exited the silent bathroom, making her way back down the long flight of stairs towards the living room.

If she had been asked later what made her look out of the window next to the door, she couldn't have said. All she knew was that she happened to look out the window and noticed that the flag on the mailbox was up.

Frowning slightly, she opened the front door and wandered down to the box opening it. A single envelope lay inside and she pulled it out, her frown deepening when she realised that there was nothing written on it, except her name.

Turning, she returned into the coolness of the air-conditioned house, absently closing the door behind her as she tore the envelope open. A couple of sheets of parchment lay inside and she felt her heart leap. 

Only one person she knew would use parchment.

Sinking down on the sofa, she quickly unfolded the crisp letter, recognising the familiar, ungainly scrawl that seemed to take up far too much paper, black ink smudged here and there, where he had forgotten to blot it.

***

Dear Skeleton, (She chuckled at the other childhood nickname)

Sorry I couldn't drop in and see you myself, but I'm on the run from a bit of a nasty customer, who wasn't too pleased about a little...job I did for him. I had time to drop this off and I'll be in to see you as soon as I can.

I had to write, though, cos I've just got some more news from a few sources at the pig-house. Poison and Charmer ("Snape and Flitwick.")are both keeping me up to date with whatever is happening in Wiz-world and you know how crazy that place can be.

Both of them told me the same thing: Dogboy ("Dogboy?" She frowned.), friend of Pothead, Loopy and Petti ("Oh! Sirius Black...right. The Constellation...") has managed to escape from the pound and is running wild. ("Eh?")

In case I forgot to tell you, Dogboy was locked up for helping Snakebreath bump off Pothead and Red. (Cassandra shook her head. "That can't be right.") He would have got away with it, except Petti apparently tracked him down and Dogboy blew him to pieces. He's spent the last twelve years in Wiz pris and they think he's after Pothead Junior. 

Funny old world, ain't it? Pothead Junior could probably have a run of books written about him, just because he had a thick skull that no bullet could penetrate, but no one cares about old Snakebreath's squirt. ("Not that I mind." She murmured.)

Anyway, back to Dogboy and his escape from the wonderful Wizard of Az. Poison said he can guarentee Dogboy wasn't one of Snakebreath's crew and he said you would know if it was true or not.

What I want to know is, if Dogboy wasn't a bad guy and the one that let Pothead's whereabouts slip, who was it? And fair enough, there was a hell of a lot of evidence against Dogboy in the almost non-existent trial, but I'm still confused by it all.

Either way, if he's just after Pothead Junior, I don't think we've got anything to worry about, but if he did follow Snakebreath, then he might try and bring him back and you know how much that'll mess up our schedules for the next...well, eternity.

Anyway, I have to run for now. I'll drop you another line as soon as I can. Keep the brat and yourself safe. I'd hate to have to yell at you again!

Shags and kisses, 

Drizzle.

***

Re-reading the letter several times, Cassandra bit her lower lip. Folding up the letter, questions filled her head. Could she have been wrong about Black? Had he been a Death Eater that she didn't know about?

Snape said no and Snape had been there longer than she had, so that was a plus for her.

But what if he was and he tried to bring...

No.

It wouldn't help to think like that. She *knew* for certain that Black wasn't a Death Eater and because of that, he did not affect her. As long as he didn't come near her, he could be the Queen Mother for all she cared.

If it had been Pettigrew, however, she knew she would have been in trouble, but little Peter had died, according to Ethan. Blown to pieces. A messy, but very quick way to go. And it served him right for what he had done.

Getting to her feet, she ran up the stairs to her bedroom and dug out the keys for her large chest, opening the seventh lock as quickly as she could, revealing her hidden room that was, once she descended the ladder into it, almost as large as her bedroom.

It was a small study, complete with a desk and chair, bookshelves packed with an assortment of magic books and magical supplies. This, aside from the bathroom, was her refuge as long as her husband wasn't around.

Opening her desk, she carefully placed the letter in with the small collection she had gathered over the last twelve years, all of them from Ethan and her only way to get through her life with her sanity intact.

Pushing the drawer shut, she glanced at the shelf above the desk. A huge, leather-bound journal sat there and she tiredly reached up to pull it down. It was the place she could muse over revelations from her friend, sorting through coincidences and puzzles.

The dust made her sneeze as she cracked it open, the pages yellowed and etched here and there with black ink, doodles trailing across the pages when she had lost focus and mentally wandered off on some strange path.

Taking her quill from it's holder, she turned to the first blank page she could find and, leaning on her left hand, started to write about her worries, concerns and fears for her son and musings over where Black featured in the whole messy picture of her life.

***

"You okay, Xander?"

"Hmm?"

The red head's brow wrinked in concern. Alexander was sitting at one of the picnic tables, his chin resting on his crossed arms, a distracted look in his eyes, his damp hair slicked against his forehead. "Xander?"

"What?"

Jesse glanced between the pair. "Xan, we're just wondering what's up with you. You're, like, spaced out man!"

"Just worried about my mom." The dark-haired boy replied, grateful that Jesse's father was away from the table, apparently going to buy them drinks. "Dad didn't want me to come today and mom said I could. They were fighting when I left."

His friends exchanged glances, then looked back at him sympathetically. "She'll be okay, Xander." Willow touched his arm comfortingly, receiving a small, tired smile of gratitude. "Your mom is really strong."

"Yeah." Jesse agreed. "Your dad is just too dumb to notice."

"Like father like son." An intrusive voice put it. The trio turned, each groaning inwardly. "Well, if it isn't Geeks on Parade." Cordelia sneered, her hands on her hips, her flock of minions gathered behind her.

As usual, she was clad in the most expensive bikini of the small group, her hair, make-up and tan perfect. 

Alexander raised his eyes to her. "I don't suppose there's a chance you're here to swim instead of to make our lives hell?"

The brunette pulled a face at him. "Ew! Like, as if!" She shot a disgusted look in the direction of the overcrowded pool. "If you want to be gross and swim in other peoples' pee, you can. I'm sure you'll feel right at home."

"And you still come over here and hang around near us." Willow put in.

Cordelia gave her a withering look. "Who gave you permission to exist?" She tossed her head arrogantly. "I just like to watch losers like you squirming together."

"Your way of saying you're checking out the hotness of us?" Jesse smirked.

Cordelia raised a brow, eyeing his neon shorts. "And when the circus leaves town, are you going with it?" Her little flock tittered gleefully as Jesse glowered at her. "We'll leave you geeks to do... whatever it is geeks do." With an imperious wave of her hand, she led her group off.

Turning to glare after her, Jesse already muttering words that would probably make his mother yell at him, Xander found himself wishing with all his heart that he could do something to embarrass her.

Walking along the poolside, derisively commenting on everyone they passed, the gang of girls following her, a miracle seemed to happen before their eyes.

No one could say what happened, but she seemed to stumble, as if someone had pushed her, with a yell of "Hey!" a second before she plummeted over the lip of the pool and plunged straight into the water.

"Cordy!" Her brood squealed.

Flapping her arms uselessly up and down, the brunette spluttered and shrieked with outrage and panic, her perfect hair ruined. All along the pool sides, people were laughing and pointing as the bedraggled girl was hauled out of the water by one of the lifeguards.

"Whoever pushed me is SO dead!" She squawked furiously.

The threat might have been taken seriously by some, if her bikini top hadn't decided to spring free at that moment, another ear-splitting shriek escaping the girl as she clasped her hands to her chest.

Her friends dived as one to try and retrieve their leader's top, four of them crashing together and losing their balance, one landing at Cordelia's feet, falling against the brunette's legs so hard that she immediately pitched Cordelia – screaming – back into the pool.

Alexander couldn't help grinning as the scene played out. Jesse was leaning heavily against his shoulder, roaring with laughter and clapping his hands enthusiastically. On his other side, Willow had a hand pressed to her mouth, but he could tell she was laughing as well.

"Okay," Jesse managed to say eventually, wiping his eyes and still chuckling. "It was worth coming to the park just to see that."

"Uh-huh." Alexander snickered, trying not to grin to widely. "The downfall of Cordelia Chase and her bikini top." Another howl of laughter escaped Jesse. "This'll have to be the main topic of the next 'We hate Cordelia' meeting."

"If only we had taken a picture..." Willow added, her eyes dancing. "Just for the expression on her face."

"This is truly a moment to treasure." Jesse nodded towards the pool side, where Cordelia was wailing miserably, wrapped in a large, dark brown and horribly unfashionable towel that had belonged to a sympathetic passer-by.

Alexander had to bite on his knuckles to hold in a shout of laughter. Part of him wished he could claim responsibility for the whole thing, but now...now, he was just happy to point and laugh at her.

***

Walking past the looming Dementor guards at the gates of Hogwarts as fast as he could, Severus Snape shivered as he felt their attention scan over him briefly. It wasn't a pleasant sensation by any means.

He barely noticed his surroundings once he had passed through the gates, his thoughts full of turmoil and confusion. 

Was Dumbledore trying to torture him into giving something spectacular away? Was that why he had made some of the decisions that he had this year? What was he trying to do, if not unnerve Snape?

He had been wondering that very thing from the moment he had learned that Professor Remus Lupin, a close friend of Black and Potter Senior, had been appointed as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Of all of the little group, he mused, Lupin had actually been the only one he could stand during their schooldays. Studious and fairly quiet, he had been strangely likeable, when he was separated from his irritating friends.

Why, though, had he been brought back to the school in the wake of Black's escape? Surely that was a damn fool idea.

If Black ever needed inside help, he could turn to Lupin for it...although, like many others, Snape assumed that Lupin believed Black was guilty of the betrayal of the Potters and the murder of Pettigrew.

His mental meanderings were broken off when he heard a voice hailing him and looked around to see Professor Flitwick jogging towards him, his face flushed with exertion beneath his shock of a white mane.

"Thank goodness!" He squeaked, stopping at Snape's feet, panting. "I was hoping I could have a word with you Professor Snape."

"About something in particular?"

Flitwick glanced around suspiciously. "Shall we walk?" He suggested, his voice low. Snape mentally raised a brow, but nodded. They had been walking towards Hogsmeade for nearly ten minutes before Flitwick spoke again. "I believe we have a mutual acquaintance."

He received no response and it was clear he hadn't really expected one anyway.

He paused as Hogsmeade came into view on the curve of the road and looked up at the Potions Master. "He told me to inform you that the correct people have been received the necessary information and he'll contact you as soon as he needs to stock up on supplies."

"Very well." Snape murmured, then added for Flitwick's benefit. "He always did seem to regard me as something of a supplier."

"Only legal, I hope." Flitwick's eyes twinkled.

Snape's thin lips rose in a slight smile. "Of course, Professor. Only ever legal."


	5. Chapter 5 : The Return

One Year Later - "The Goblet of Fire"

Standing at the front door of the Harris household, the delivery man rocked on the balls of his feet, glancing at his watch. Sighing, he knocked on the door again, a little harder this time.

"Just a minute! I'll be right there!" A voice called from inside, the door opening a moment later to reveal a petite, dusty, blonde-haired woman in loose dungarees with paint striped across her face. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she smiled at him. "Can I help you?"

"I have a parcel for you. I need a signature here." He proffered a clipboard for her to sign. "And here..." She took the pen and started scribbling her name, unaware of the man's dark eyes staring at her longingly.

"So what do you have for me?" 

Starting in surprise, the man blinked. "Uh...what?"

"What do you have for me?"

"Uh..." He held out a rectangular box that was about the same shape and size as a medium-sized shoe box, but felt like it was empty, or at least had something very soft and light inside of it.

The woman took the box, frowning slightly as she gave it a shake. "Do you know where it came from?" She asked carefully.

"Sorry, lady, I only deliver them." He answered with an apologetic shrug. "I guess you weren't expecting anything?"

"No...not really..." 

A beefy hand came out and squeezed her slender shoulder. "Don't worry, luv." He said to the distracted woman. "Not many people are used to it when it starts...raining weird boxes."

The woman forced a smile up at him. "Thank you..."

She disappeared back into the house - still staring pensively at the package in her hands - and closed the door, leaving the delivery man standing at the door, a tired look on his face.

It seemed to take him a minute to realise that he didn't have to be there and he reluctantly returned to his van, at the roadside. 

Driving away from the quiet Harris house, he directed the van to the outskirts of Sunnydale, where the roads started to clear. Skidding to a halt and knocking a cactus flying in the process, he brought the van to a halt and stepped out.

He casually noticed that he would have to practise his parking, before climbing into the back of the vehicle, where the real delivery man was propped up between two large sacks of parcels.

His large figure was clad only in a pair of boxer shorts, his large, round paunch almost resting on his large thighs. His jowls shook with every wheezing snore he made, his nostrils quivering.

Squatting down, the man disguised as the hapless muggle cocked his head to regard the unconscious human. "You know, mate," He remarked. "I really appreciate you letting me use your body and everything..." He winced, craning his neck.

A strange sound seemed to emanate from his body, his hair rustling as it seemed to sprout out from his scalp and change from black curls to greying sandy-brown. 

The dark skin suddenly looked like it was being bleached and the generous build seemed to be melting away with a strange sucking sound, like dregs of the contents of a sink swirling down the plughole.

Simultaneously, the short, squat body started to stretch out as the girth shrunk inwards and the man in the process of changing groaned as his vertebrae shifted back into their natural positions.

Finally straightening up, Ethan Rayne cricked his neck from side to side, the grimace not leaving his face. "Bloody hell, Cass." He muttered under his breath. "I hope you appreciate the things I do for you."

He looked down at the clothing he was wearing with a chuckle. The delivery man was at least a foot and a half shorter than Ethan was and about two feet wider around the waist, which meant the shirt was like a tent and the trousers - had they still been around his lean waist - would have barely covered his calves.

While it seemed rather pointless to disguise himself to deliver a parcel to her - the mail service could have done it - he just wanted a chance to see her face again. It had been far too long.

How long, he wondered, would she take to work out just who her delivery man was?

Disrobing, he dropped the clothing down beside the rightful owner, reclaiming his own, familiar maroon shirt and dark cords. His hand closed over his wand and he studied the unfortunate delivery man.

Placing the tip of his wand against the man's brow, he intoned. "Enervate."

Brown eyes blinked open and the plump man immediately slammed back against the wall with clang, staring at Ethan in panic. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his hands scrabbling around for a weapon. "Whatcha want wit' me?"

"Obliviate." 

Leaving the puzzled-looking and half-naked delivery man sitting among his sacks of post, Ethan smirked as he stepped out of the van and into the afternoon sunlight, stretching his freshly-returned body. 

"God, I love magic." He remarked, a heartbeat before disapparating with a pop.

***

Meanwhile, back at the Harris' house, Cassie couldn't help being relieved that Xander was out with Jesse and Willow. She had hurried to her study with the package, closing the lid of the trunk over her hidden room.

The box lay in front of her on her desk and she was sitting, staring at it warily.

What if it was something...anything that could harm her boy?

After all, there was no forwarding address, lest they had the delivery wrong.

A frown wrinkled her brow and one hand rose to touch her shoulder, where the delivery man had touched her. Her brown eyes widened in realisation and she looked down at the box. "Ethan?"

Ripping off the thick tape along the top of the box, she quickly pulled the lid open to reveal a parchment envelope on top of what appeared to be a single folded sheet of dirty, yellowed paper.

Confused, Cassie opened the envelope, expecting an explanation. However, only six words were cryptically scrawled on the sheet of parchment, which made her brow wrinkle even more.

"Not everything is what it seems." She read, picking up the scrap of paper from the box and opening it out. There was nothing written on it either. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? What's this paper meant to...oh!"

Feeling somewhat stupid, Cassie hastily lifted her wand, touching it to the sheet, and muttered an incantation over the paper, which immediately thickened and changed into a glossy newspaper.

"The Daily Prophet?"

Uneasily opening out the Wizarding newspaper, her hand came to her mouth in shock at the headline and picture on the first page - _Scenes of terror at the Quidditch World Cup_.

The picture though...

The Dark Mark...

"No..." Shaking her head, she stared at it. "No...its not possible..."

However, a chilling voice at the back of her mind whispered darkly. "Ah, but how can you be so sure of that? You of all people should know how powerful he was. You know he couldn't be killed so easily."

Reaching over her shoulder with a shaking hand, she flinched as she felt the slightly raised swell on her left shoulder, where the father of her only and precious son, had left his mark on her. 

The same mark that was sparkling in the picture in the Wizarding newspaper.

Yes, her mark had been stinging occasionally of late, but she had been hoping - and praying, she would freely admit if anyone asked - that it was just because it was inflicted by dark magics and that would cause it to be a bit...uncomfortable.

"Don't let him come back...don't let him find my little boy..." She whispered hopelessly to anyone who might be listening. "Anything but that..."

***

"Mom, I'm home!"

"Alex!" 

Alexander was startled to be grabbed in a hug the moment he crossed the threshhold of the house, his mother's arms so tight around him that he had to swat at her to make her loosen her grip. "Mom! What's the deal? Its not like I've been gone long."

"It's getting dark already, Alex. You know I like you back before nightfall. " Cassie chastised, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "I was worried."

He studied her for a moment, brown eyes so like her staring back at her. "No, you weren't." He said with certainty. "You don't worry about me when I'm out. It was something else..."

Of course, he was right.

What he didn't know, though, was that his mother had placed a protection spell on him, to defend him from the natural dangers of the Hellmouth, meaning he appeared repulsive in any way necessary to the demons and vampires that roamed their streets. It explained why he was one of the few people in his school who had been unharmed by supernatural forces.

Willow and Jesse, when in his company, were under the same condition.

"What's wrong, mom?" He prompted.

"Does a mother need a reason to want to make sure her son is safe?" Cupping his face between her small hands, she tried to smile, but he could see the tears welling up in her dark brown eyes.

He considered the options he had.

He could press for an answer, which he had done to Willow, which usually broke her resolve face and made her confess to anything that was upsetting her. Or, he could ignore it and let her tell him when she was ready, like he usually did with Jesse.

His mother certainly wasn't as easily broken as Willow, he knew, which meant that he had to resort to the Jesse offensive and distract her.

"Mom," He began. "Could we go to a movie?"

Cassie looked at him, surprised. Then, realising what he was trying to do, she smiled and nodded. "I think we could manage that." She agreed. "We could probably make the last showing of that new Disney cartoon..."

"Mom!"

Flashing a smile at him, she corrected herself. "I mean, we could probably find some action film that you'd like more than that really bad Disney film...we all know how much you hate Disney."

Alexander grinned. "Yeah. Hate it."

"If I buy you a Kingsize bucket of popcorn, will you let your old mum take you to see it?"

Heaving a huge sigh, Alexander pretended to reluctantly acquiesce. "I guess it won't be so bad if I have enough popcorn for the whole thing..." He gave her an impulsive hug. "Thanks, mom." 

As he ran to take his bag up to his room, she called after him. "I love you, Alex."

Flashing a smile at her, he nodded. "Love you too, mom."

***

Staring into the fire beneath his cauldron, Severus Snape was seated in the darkness of the dungeon, and pensively tapped the tips of his forefingers together, his hands folded together just beneath his chin. 

So...

They had all their champions for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. 

Or should it be called the Quad-Wizard Tournament now?

His long, angular fingertips resting against his pointed chin, he gazed into the cold, flickering, silver-blue flames he regularly employed to keep the dungeon looking as cold as he desired. 

How?

That was the question he found himself repeating as he stared into the hearth. 

It was an obvious question as well, and while he had cheerfully accused Potter of rigging the Goblet, he knew it was impossible for the boy to have manipulated such a powerful magical artefact.

"And, as usual, he's lurking away, like a rat in his hole."

Snape started at the amused voice from his door of the dungeon, rising out of his high-backed seat. Silhouetted against the flickering flames, his robes unfurled around him in a way that made him look intimidating and formidable to anyone who dared to invade his privacy.

However, it didn't seem to have an affect on the figure framed in the doorway.

"Sev, mate, I taught you that trick."

Shaken, Snape stared at the man. "Ethan?" He croaked. "How did you get in here?"

"I'm an expert at sneaking." Starting across the floor towards the Potions Master, Ethan smirked. "I thought you would have caught onto that."

"That doesn't answer how you got in here unnoticed?"

"My short, white-haired connection was kind enough to turn me into a book to bring me down here. Not the best way to travel, I admit, but it worked." Quickly conjuring up another seat next to the fire, Ethan glanced towards the door. "Got anything that might make this place a bit safer to talk in?"

With a flick of Snape's wand, the door slammed and a gauzy screen of sparkling purple light shimmered in front of it. 

"All right, we're enclosed." Returning to the two seats by the fire, where Ethan had comfortably settled himself in the larger, squashy chair, his feet propped on the grate, flames licking the soles of his bare feet, Snape remained standing. His thin hands spread along the top of his jet-black chair. "Do you plan on telling me why you're here?"

"No real reason." Propping his hands behind his head, Ethan leaned back into his chair, eyes closed lightly. "Although, I am wondering how little Pothead got into this little competition that's going on here."

"You heard about that already?" Rounding his chair, his cloak flaring again, Snape swept into his solid, wooden seat. He never resorted to comfortable furnishing. It was an unnecessary luxury.

One of Ethan's eyes opened. "You really like that flaring-cape thing, don't you?" He remarked, lowering his feet to rest on the cold stone of the floor as he sat up. "And yes, Sev, I know about it. It was kind of hard to ignore hundreds of yelling brats going on about when they headed to bed."

Running the fingertips of his right hand over the spiked end of the arm of his chair, Snape looked back into the flames. "I feel ridiculous saying this," He admitted. "But I do believe the boy when he says he didn't do it."

"That, mate, is obvious." His hands interwoven behind his head, he regarded Snape through half-closed eyes. "It just makes you wonder who did it and why they'd have it in for the little ponce."

"You mean, apart from us and our reasons?"

Ethan's lips rose slightly. "Well, I wish I'd had the brains and bollocks to do it, but I can't claim this one as mine." He glanced down at the fire, then back at Severus' gaunt face. "Is there anyone here...?"

Snape sighed. "I would say Karkaroff, but his surprise...his rage when Potter's name emerged...it could not have been acted. He may be a Dark Wizard, but even he was never that good an actor." 

"And yet, old Dumbledore went and got Mad-Eye Moody out of retirement." A tight look crossed Snape's face, his black eyes flicking down to his left forearm. "He still doesn't trust you?"

"He doesn't trust anyone, especially anyone with one of these damned marks." His fingers shaking, he undid the button of his cuff and pushed the sleeve up, allowing Ethan to see the mark on the inside of his forearm. "If I had the ability to get rid of this... thing, I would have erased it years ago."

"Does it do anything now that You-Know-Who is gone?" Ethan was studying the faint reddish outline curiously. No reply came and he looked up at Snape's strained face illuminated by the flickering blue. Snape was staring at the fire, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "Sev?"

"He's not gone." His voice was a rasp.

Ethan paled, sitting bolt upright. "You what?"

Glittering black eyes stared into Ethan's green ones. "Did you ever truly believe that he was gone forever, Ethan?" His voice shook as he continued. "The mark...it's been getting clearer for months." He paused, studying the mark. "And I think I'm the only one who was told by Dumbledore, but Potter's scar...he's been having the kind of pains that people like me, people with a dark mark, have."

"It...it hurts you?"

"It never did a thing for years, but recently..." Snape exhaled a breath. "It stings from time to time. It isn't painful, persay, but its simply irritating and the twinges remind you that it is there...that, perhaps is the worst part."

"Christ..." Ethan rubbed his brow. "Sev, if You-Know-Who does come back, will it get worse?"

Severus gave him a look that suggested the Potions Master thought he was deeply stupid. "It's how he summons all of...us, the Death Eaters." Snape rasped, touching the mark stiffly. "When he wants us...there, he touches the mark on any Death Eater who is near him and the mark burns black on anyone who has one, letting us know that we're wanted."

"Oh God...and if you don't go to him, will he know where you are?"

Snape shook his head. "It is a powerful hex he uses, but no matter how powerful he is, he can't locate every single one of his people. He can identify a vague area, but the further they are away, the less chance there is of them being found."

Ethan seemed to sag into his seat. "Thank God for that." He muttered.

"What is it?"

"Little Bones...he marked her."

Snape's face seemed to crumble. A silent curse slipped past his lips. "I had hoped... believed he might have left her unsullied..." He spoke, more to himself. "But he liked everyone to know what was his..."

"As long as she keeps it covered, no one should know, right?"

Snape's eyes remained closed. "But if she is caught, she has the Dark Mark and she'll go straight to Azkhaban with things the way they are now. Its only Dumbledore who has prevented me from being dragged back there."

Ethan sat up a little straighter, his mouth a thin, determined line. "Then we'll just have to make sure that she isn't caught."

"We might have a difficulty there." Snape remarked quietly, scratching his cheek. "I believe Karkaroff knows something of the 'heir' and if he mentions it to anyone...its only the thought of being safe from the mother's vengeance that keeps him quiet."

"He thinks little Bones would kill him?"

Snape chuckled hoarsely. "He was absent when Bones was chosen. He believes she was chosen because she was powerful and that she was one of You-Know-Who's followers, which is why she was given the..." He laughed bitterly. "The privilege of bearing his Heir. He may be Head of Durmstrang, but he could hold the title of the stupidest Death Eater."

"Maybe," A wicked smile crossed Ethan's face. "You could arrange a meeting with this chap for me, if he gets close to spilling the beans..."

"What would you want to do that for?"

Straightening his back, Ethan gave Snape a dignified look. "As representative of the mother of the 'Heir', I would simply remind Karkaroff that if he mentions so much what she looks like, I'll turn his head inside out."

"And we all know that you have such a way with people." The Potions Master commented dryly.

A weary smile reached Ethan's green eyes and Snape noticed for the first time how exhausted he looked. "I'm just protective of the few friends that I have left in this miserable world." He stood abruptly. "But, for now, I need to dash."

"More chaos to cause?"

"Actually," Ethan looked slightly embarrassed by the mundanity of it. "Its because I have a part-time job to pay my way until I get some dark magic sorted. I'm due to start in ten minutes and I have to get across several continents."

Rising, Snape offered a hand to Ethan, who shook it. "I'll try to keep you informed, Rayne." He said softly. "If anything comes up..."

"You do that." Looking towards the door, he sighed. "And now, I have to commence the demon-worshipper-in-the-place-he-was-expelled-and-exiled-on-pain-of-death race to try and avoid that bloody cat and any teachers who might know who I am."

"Or I could just transfigure you and carry you to the nearest exit." Snape suggested with a small smile.

"Oh yeah," Ethan grinned. "Didn't think of that." He held up a finger in front of Severus' face. "I'm trusting you not to hurl me into the lake or anything, mind you. I want to get out safely."

Snape simply gave him a thin-lipped smile, which did nothing to reassure the wizard, as he changed him back into a large book. As he picked the hefty tome off the floor, Snape was convinced the book glared at him.

***

Regular letters had been arriving in Sunnydale, California, after the incident at the Quidditch World Cup, sometimes simply as letters, sometimes as disguised packages and - on one rather surreal occasion - as a strip-o-gram.

The Daily Prophet was regularly enclosed in the delivery and Cassandra had been following the developing story with increasing worry. 

As it was to anyone who recalled Voldemort's prior reign of terror, she could see the signs of his impending return. Apparently Professor Dumbledore did as well, judging by the extremes he was going to, having ex-Aurors on the staff.

Apparently someone, a witch, had gone missing and that wasn't something that happened on a regular basis in the Wizarding world. Usually, there was nothing out there that could defeat a Witch or Wizard, so for Bertha Jorkins to be missing for as long as she had been...

The thought made Cassandra shiver.

There was no doubt in her mind that the hapless woman was dead.

And then, there was the latest incident with young Potter. Cassie studied the open newspaper, reading the article about the boy's scar hurting him so much that he ended up on the floor screaming, the day before.

She mentally thanked Ethan for keeping her so up to date with the situation - as soon as the paper was in print, he managed to get a copy to her, although she wasn't quite sure how he did it.

If she remembered right, glancing at her watch, it would soon be over and the whole mess of the Tri-Wizard tournament would be behind them. On the other side of the World, at Hogwarts, the sun would be setting soon and the third and final task of the competition would begin.

A twinge of pain lanced from her shoulder and she grimaced. Even the best potions Ethan had managed to send to her did nothing to ease the pain. She had never seen him on the deliveries, which only made the pain worse in some ways. He claimed it was too dangerous and that he had demons on his tail, but she just wanted to see him.

Pushing up from the seat in her study, she tiredly ascended the ladder and climbed out of her trunk, closing it and locking it securely, transfiguring the keys into an old, dirty baseball cap, which she hung on the back of the bedroom door.

The summer vacation was due to start in a few days. It seemed like an eternity since the last vacation had finished and - while many parents wished their children could stay at school permanently - the vacation didn't come soon enough for Cassandra.

She wanted to have her little boy away from the school, which she knew covered the most powerful Hellmouth on that side of the equator. All she wanted was to be able to spirit him away on a holiday, somewhere different, somewhere where they could just enjoy themselves.

That wasn't going to happen though.

Not that Cassandra knew it, as she started to tidy up the impeccable house for the tenth time that day.

"Hi Mom! Jesse and me are gonna play with my race track." Time seemed to have flown from the moment she had received her letter to the second her son charged through the door and up the stairs.

"Alex! Its a nice day! You should be playing outside!" She called up after them, smiling indulgently.

Alexander called something back down to her that sounded like some excuse about being allergic to the sunlight and thinking that the only cure would be playing with his race track.

Shaking her head, Cassandra moved off into the kitchen to start making the early dinner. She didn't bother asking why school was out early. Probably some demon invasion that would be explained as another gas leak.

All that mattered was that Alex was home and safe.

Looking through the cupboards, she decided that it was time to experiment with a meatloaf again, something she had tried unsuccessfully once before. Now, though, she had been living as a muggle for thirteen years...

Something which proved useless.

Using the tip of a wooden spoon, she turned the blackened blob of...something over, looking for some sign of the juicy, brownish oblong block of mushed meat beneath the shrivelled black crust that covered her attempt.

Glancing towards the stairs to make sure Alex wasn't in sight, she quickly withdrew her wand and tapped the incinerated object, sighing with relief as it swelled out and fleshified under her gaze.

Shooting a blast from her wand at the table, she carried the resurrected loaf through and watched the cutlery laying itself. Placing her vain attempt at a 'muggle' meal in the middle of the table, she added some salad, just in case the two teenage boys had miraculously changed their eating habits.

"Boys, are you hungry?"

The sound of thundering feet on the stairs suggested that she had asked a stupid question and Alexander, closely followed by Jesse, skidded into the room, staring at the table greedily. 

"Isn't it a little early for dinner, Mrs Harris?"

Reaching out to pick the plate of meatloaf up, she shrugged. "If you don't want it..."

"No!" Both boys quickly sat down. "Of course we want it, mom!"

"Yeah, Mrs Harris! It looks great!"

She watched them hacking chunks off the loaf, as she made her way towards the kitchen. "Is lemonade all right for you boys?" She called through the door, gathering up three glasses and a bottle.

She never heard their reply.

An agonising pain more intense than anything she had ever felt in her life slammed into her back with the force of a ten-ton truck, her vision going rapidly from white to red, then black.

"Mom! Wake up!" She could hear Alexander shouting frantically, but he sounded more like an echo, his voice so distant. Pain tore through her body as she clawed her way towards the fuzzy light ahead, her son's frightened voice growing clearer as the light grew brighter. "Mom!"

With a gasp, her eyes - nearly solid black with the agony - snapped open and she arched off the floor in pain. Her left shoulder felt like it was on fire, convulsions ripping through her body. 

She didn't even notice that her hands and wrists were bleeding from numerous cuts, her eyes rolling back in her head. The glasses she had been carrying had shattered on the floor, slivers imbedded in her bare hands and arms from her impact when she had collapsed on them.

Gradually, the shudders eased and she stared up at Alexander, panting, tears spilling down her cheeks. His face was white and he looked terrified.

"M-mom?" He was cradling her and her hands spread on his chest as if to check he was still there and was real. "Mom, what happened?" He didn't even seem aware of the tears breaking from his eyes. "Are...are you all right?"

"All right..." She croaked hoarsely, still shaking. "Y-yes...yes...I..." Pain burned out from her shoulder again and a cry escaped her, partly because of the pain, partly because she knew, already, what it meant.

"What happened, Mrs Harris?" Jesse, as white as Alexander, was staring at her over her son's shoulder.

Swallowing hard, a tremor running through her, Cassandra forced herself to sit upright. "I-I...I just fainted boys." She forced a laugh, bringing her hand to her mouth when the laughter threatened to turn into a sob. Only then, did she see the blood on her fingers, raising a trembling hand in front of her eyes.

"You're hurt, mom!" Motioning for Jesse to hand him a clean dishcloth from the pile on the workbench, Alexander hastily wrapped it around his mother's bloody hands. "We need to get you to a hospital."

Unable to find the strength to reply, Cassandra stared down at her crudely bound hands as her blood started to seep through the cloths, while Alexander rushed to the phone and dialled for an ambulance.

***

Getting unsteadily out of the cab, Alexander hastily slipping an arm around her waist, Cassandra allowed her son to pay the driver with money from her pocket, then helped her up the path to the front door.

She hadn't said a word as she was treated, the medical personnel asking Alexander if she had hit her head. She simply sat and stared at her hands as her fingers and wrists were stitched up.

White bandages were neatly bound around her arms from fingers to halfway up her forearm, her hands held defensively in front of her chest, her eyes red-rimmed from silently crying.

Alexander didn't know what to do. He had only seen her expression like that twice before and he knew it didn't bode well. Unlocking the front door, he hurried her into the house and locked up behind them.

"Are you okay, mom?"

Nodding, she lifted her eyes to his face, one bandaged hand coming out and gently stroking the loose curls back from his forehead. "You go to bed." She said quietly. "I just need to...to tidy up..."

"Not tonight, mom." He steered her - unprotesting - towards the stairs. "You need to lie down. The doctor said to get some rest in case it happens again."

It will, she finished dully at the back of her mind. Much much more often.

She shook herself when she realised that she was somehow already at the top of the stairs, the bathroom door open, Alexander looking from her to it expectantly. "Do you wanna go in, mom? I could fill the bath..."

"Yes...I'll...I'll think a while in there..." Absently kissing his tangled hair, she walked into the white room and shut the door behind her, leaving Alexander to shake his head sadly and hurry to his bedroom, hoping his mother would be all right.

Moving with slow, shuffling steps, Cassie felt as stiff as an old woman, as she approached the mirror, her shaking hands undoing the buttons of her shirt and letting it slip down her body.

Turning her back on the mirror, she drew a long, slow breath as she tilted her head to look at the reflection of her slender back in the mirror. 

A sob escaped her and she sank onto her knees.

Even after an hour had passed since it flared to life, she could see the throbbing red-black outline of the Dark Mark burning on her shoulder, saying more clearly than anything that Lord Voldemort was back and he was as bad as ever.

***

Standing back in the inner circle of Death Eaters, his robes scale-like and flickering in the flaming torchlight of Lucius Malfoy's dungeon, Snape gazed out stonily from behind his mask at the scene playing out before him.

It had taken a great deal of grovelling to be accepted once again, his Master plying him with the cruciatus curse several times to ensure that he would not do something as stupid as betraying nearly Voldemort again.

Part of him wished he had refused Dumbledore and stayed in the temporary sanctuary that he knew Hogwarts was. If he had, he knew, he wouldn't be witnessing what he was forced to see now.

However, he owed Dumbledore too much.

So, he was here.

The Inner Circle of Death Eaters was once again complete, but for those killed in the months and years previously.

Including Karkaroff.

All eyes, however, were not on the bloodied, cowering figure at the centre of the circle, but at the forbidding, ominous figure seated on a veritable throne at the head of the circle.

Voldemort's scarlet eyes were focused on Karkaroff. His lips were a thin line, his long-fingered, white hands rhythmically curling and uncurling around the decorative ends of the arms of his elaborate chair.

The former Death Eater had been in hiding in the Black Forest, desperately trying to learn how to become an animagi, to disguise himself from the vengeance of the dark wizard who had been his Master.

It had taken less than two weeks since Voldemort's return for the unfortunate man to be captured by the Dark Lord's loyal followers.

Soundly beaten, he had been brought to Voldemort's hidden 'home', which moved around with the Dark Lord, leaving him untraceable and impossible to track. Any Death Eaters who even considered revealing his whereabouts would find that - shortly before they were killed - the lair would move as soon as they had departed.

It never remained in one place, something Snape did admire about the Dark Lord. If there was one thing that Voldemort excelled at, it was keeping his location, identity and followers a secret, unless, of course, they were idiots like the Malfoys.

"Dear Karkaroff," All eyes turned to the unfortunate man, as Voldemort rose from his throne and glided down towards him. The pitiful bundle of rags and bones uttered a terrified whimper, but no other sound. "I hear you have been saying some...rather offensive things about these brothers of yours, in my absence."

"Please, my Lord..." The former teacher's shaking hands scrabbled for Voldemort's robes, panic-filled, bruised eyes rising to the Dark Lord, who stared down at him coldly. "I-I had to tell them something! I had to!"

Crabbe stepped forward and - with a savage blow of his fist - knocked the sobbing man to the ground. Cowering down, Karkaroff buried his head in his hands, rocking, blood streaming between his fingers.

At the side of the circle, Snape flinched. He remembered too well when that fist had meted out the same punishment on him, years before, when he was still a scrawny, insolent Slytherin. 

"Oh, do tell me why you felt thus." Voldemort's tone was quiet, but even a fool like Karkaroff knew it was madness to answer. There was a silence only broken by the gurgling wheeze of Karkaroff's breath and the rustling of cloaks. Finally, Voldemort spoke again. "The Lestranges said nothing, as my most loyal servants did, and they will be rewarded."

"I-I..."

"You were a fool, Karkaroff." Voldemort whispered, flitting around the man. "You betrayed my servants...betrayed me."

"No, my Lord! Please!" His face masked with blood, Karkaroff raised his hands in supplication. He was barely recognisable as the arrogant wizard who had been present during the tri-Wizard tournament.

His expensive clothes were reduced to filthy rags, raw cuts and bruises from the savage beating he had received on his arrival at Voldemort's lair leaving him barely able to move.

Gouts of scarlet trickled from the corners of his mouth and from his nose with every breath, his previously well-groomed hair and beard matted with crusts of blackening dried blood and dirt.

Halting in front of the man, Voldemort seemed to consider him for a long moment, then smiled his terrifying smile. "Perhaps, Karkaroff," He murmured. "You could tell me why I should spare you."

"I-I-I..." A gleam of hope shone in the Bulgarian teacher's eyes and Snape felt sick with the thought of what was coming, the foolish man truly believing that he could be saved by bartering information. "I did not tell them of your secret, my Lord!"

"My...secret?" Voldemort had returned to his throne and casually sat down. He motioned with a spider-like hand. "Do elaborate."

Gaining in confidence, Karkaroff painfully knelt up. "Your Heir, my Lord." A rush of whispers passed among the Death Eaters and Snape noticed the tiniest narrowing in Voldemort's red eyes.

"What of my Heir?" Leaning forward, folding his hands together, Voldemort's eyes locked on Karkaroff's bloody face.

Snape saw the calculating glint in the former teacher's eyes and silently prayed that the man wouldn't be stupid enough to try and use his knowledge as leverage against the most unforgiving of Dark Wizards.

"I will tell you..."

Don't say 'if', don't say 'if', don't say 'if'...

Snape's hands had balled in fists and he felt like he had been punched in the gut when Karkaroff defiantly lifted his chin and said. "If you spare me."

Voldemort looked at the kneeling man for a long moment, then smiled. His hand slowly rose from his side, holding his slim wand, and almost boredly, he directed it at Karkaroff and murmured. "Crucio."

"No! No, my Lord!" Screaming, Karkaroff thrashed back onto the floor, his body contorting agonisingly. His hands grabbed at his head, chunks of skin and hair tearing away, his fingers bloodied further by his attempts to tear the pain from his body.

Snape looked away behind his mask, sickened, as Karkaroff's fingers gouged at his own flesh, his desperate screams gargled and agonised, ringing off the stone walls of the chamber.

Raising his wand, Voldemort let the teacher slump onto the floor. 

Reluctantly, the Potions Master opened his eyes, drawing an involuntary breath at the pathetic figure on the floor in front of him. He certainly wasn't the only one to inhale a sharp breath.

While some of them had been practising their torture, no one had seen anything like this in almost thirteen years.

If Karkaroff's face had been unrecognisable before, it was certainly little more than a bloody mess now, the ragged cuts opened by his blunt fingers deep and wide, baring muscle and bone.

Sobbing and shaking, Karkaroff lifted his head, bloody drool streaming down his chin, his lower lip torn open by his gnashing teeth. Eyeballs stared out from shredded lids, stained pink.

"Master..." His words were slurred with pain, splattering more dark blood on the floor around him. With incredible effort, he dragged himself forward on his stomach towards Voldemort. "Master... please..."

"Tell me what you know of my Heir, you weak fool." Voldemort's voice was diamond-hard. 

"Hidden, Master...hidden..." Snape listened intently. He knew that Ethan - disguised with Polyjuice Potion - had 'had a nice, friendly little chat' with Karkaroff shortly before he fled Hogwarts, but he didn't know how much Ethan had said to the former Death Eater. All he did know was that there was no possible way for them to find Cassandra Bones, or the child without Ethan Rayne. "Promised her...would not...reveal...secret...safe..." The man shuddered violently, an eruption of bloody vomit spewing from his mouth.

"Promised who?" Karkaroff choked feebly on his own vomit and Voldemort raised his wand. "Cru..."

"Her!" The bloodied man gasped, his hand raised desperately to his Dark Lord. "She is...living...Lady...Lady Voldemort..."

Snape could see the...could it be relief? spreading across the Dark Lord's face, as he leaned back in his high-backed throne. His eyes flicked to Malfoy. "So she is still living, in spite of your wonderfully foolish idea to let her leave your protection." 

Lucius went rigid and Snape had the absurd urge to giggle. 

Malfoy had been at the receiving end of the cruciatus curse when Voldemort had discovered that his 'mate' and the child she was carrying, had been evicted from Malfoy's protection, lest she bear a child that looked like the Dark Lord.

It was obvious, Voldemort had said, extending the curse, as he watched Malfoy writhe and scream, that the Malfoy family would be disgraced and probably sent to Azkhaban, should they be found to be concealing the Heir of the Dark Lord.

Such cowardice, Voldemort had noted, was disappointing.

Disappointing enough to leave Malfoy unconscious for almost three days.

Snape had found it amusing.

"Where did you see her?" Voldemort turned back to the shivering form of Karkaroff.

"O-outside Hogsmeade...she...arranged meeting...came to me..." The man gargled, blood bubbling from his lips. "Told me...hidden..."

"And did she inform you of how to contact her again?" Snape felt relief swell in him. So he hadn't been able to locate her yet? This was exactly what he and Ethan had hoped for.

"No...said...said if I told Ministry...she...kill me..."

Voldemort nodded with sage patience. "A wise young woman." He observed, before raising his wand and pointing it carelessly at Karkaroff.

"No...please, Lord...please..."

"I hear that so often, Igor." Voldemort sighed, fingering his wand. "It does get rather monotonous. Avada Kedavra."

There was a flash of blinding green light that made every Death Eater throw up an arm to shield their eyes.

Snape was the first to lower his arm and, despite the number of times he had seen the Dark Lord kill, he felt his bile rise as he looked at the fallen form of Karkaroff, his last, pleading expression frozen on his mangled face.

Voldemort laid down his wand and closed his eyes lightly, his hands folded in his lap. "Get rid of this piece of rubbish." He suggested quietly. "Leave it somewhere that the Ministry will find it...a gift."

As Crabbe and Goyle manhandled the body out of sight, the red eyes slowly opened again. "My loyal Death Eaters, I believe that you are now aware of the task that lies ahead of you." The scarlet slits scanned around. "You will seek out my Heir and his mother. You will bring them to me."

"Yes, my Lord." All of the voices hummed in unison, before they disapparated.


	6. Chapter 6 : The Desperation

One year later - "Order of the Phoenix."

Notes: Just to warn you, this is where the HP fandom is going to cease to be as JKR planned it, simply because SHE HASN'T GOT THE BLOODY BOOK (THAT WAS MEANT TO BE OUT THIS SUMMER) OUT YET!

And no, it really doesn't bother me that much.

Honest.

_________________

It was as dark as ever, the jet-black stone of the walls only covered here and there with green and silver banners marked with a serpent. 

At regular intervals along the floor, black steel torch stands stood, flames flickering and reflecting of the black stone around them. They cast eerie shadows over the circle of cowled men and women standing before a throne.

"What news?" The Inner Circle of Death Eaters was once again assembled before Lord Voldemort, backed by the younger generations. His scarlet gaze scanned over each of them, challenging any of them to step forward. "Well?"

"We have found no sign of her, my Lord." 

Snape, his lips pressed together in a tight line, almost smirked at the fear in Lucius Malfoy's voice. 

It was seen as the notorious wizard's fault that Bones had vanished in the first place and that was something which he had been regularly punished for since their Master had returned.

After the Hell Malfoy had put Snape through, this was initially one of the few people that Snape could bear seeing under the cruciatus curse, receiving a strange catharsis from the man's screams at first.

However, the number of times that the curse had been placed on Malfoy in recent days, since Voldemort's return barely two months earlier, was beginning to unnerve Snape. He was no longer able to watch it, unable to tolerate the screams.

Voldemort's wand came up in a swift, flowing motion and he breathed a single word. "Crucio."

Malfoy was on the floor before the Dark Lord's throne instantly, writhing in agony and shrieking for mercy in a heartbeat, while Voldemort cheerily swept his wand from side to side.

"You know that this all for your own good, you know, Lucius." He drawled. "I left one possession of mine for you to protect and shelter. You were terribly clumsy and misplaced her, which I find very disappointing...yes, disappointing..."

Bile rose in Snape's throat as Malfoy's screams grew more high-pitched in intensity and he started making gargling sounds, usually a sign that a blood vessel had burst from the sheer effort of screaming.

There was a swishing sound as Voldemort broke of the spell and sudden silence, but for the gasping of Malfoy.

A slighter figure from further back the ranks of lesser Death Eaters hurried forward and started to lever the fallen Malfoy to his feet, to aid him back to his place in the circle, but Voldemort raised a hand.

"Return to your place, boy." His voice was low.

"But..."

"Draco." Malfoy gasped, shakily standing on his own two feet. "Obey our Master."

The slight form of Malfoy Junior shot a venomous look at Voldemort from beneath the hood of his cloak, which could only be interpreted as anger. 

Voldemort chuckled, fingering his wand lazily. "He certainly has spirit, Lucius." He remarked softly. "Be sure he learns when it is fitting to use it." His expression turned cold. "It may get him in trouble."

"He-he will learn, my Lord." Swaying on his feet, Malfoy staggered forward unsteadily, kneeling to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes. "I will teach him loyalty to you, our master..."

"See that he learns, Lucius, and does so quickly. I would hate to be forced to make an example of him." The wand seemed to vanish between the Dark Lord's long, white fingers. "But now, you will continue to seek out my Heir." Scarlet eyes flicked around the room. "I grow impatient." 

Hushed murmurs of "Yes, my Lord." passed around the room, before the group used the hidden doorway in one of the walls to exit to the chosen Death Eater's abode, where Voldemort's 'home' was concealed for several days.

***

"But the spell!"

Ethan took Cassandra's small hands between his gently. "I know, Cassie, but this is You-Know-Who. He'll use any means possible to find you and Alexander." Brown eyes stared up at him as if he had betrayed her. "I knew I said it would be foolproof, but I didn't count on how fanatical he would be about it."

Cassandra shook her head stubbornly, her face screwed up with a combination of anger, fear and misery. "But he can't, Ethan...can't find us...we're on a Hellmouth... and the spell..."

"Luv, I wish it was that simple, but he has people in the Ministry and they know people who aren't afraid to use demon and muggle sources..."

Cassandra jerked her hands free from his, standing up and stalking away from the bench. Several feet down the path, she swung around, the moonlight reflecting on the tears on her cheeks. 

"And what am I supposed to do?" She demanded shrilly. "Wait for him to get here, find us, somehow, and take my little boy?"

"He might not..."

"But he might." She finished for him, hugging herself tightly, as Ethan got to his feet and slowly approached her. Turning her back, she tried to smother a quiet sob. "I-I trusted you, Ethan."

His hands came down on her shoulders gently. "Cass..."

In a heartbeat, she was in his arms, sobbing bitterly. "They can't take Alex to his father, Ethan." She wept. "They can't...he'd be...they'd kill him right away...he's more muggle than wizard..."

"Unless I told him who he was and gave him his powers, so he could fight..."

"No! I won't let that happen! I..." Cassandra paused, one hand raised to prevent Ethan from arguing. "What was that?"

A growl from nearby made them turn slightly and Ethan groaned. "Now I remember why its not a good idea to have private meetings in a cemetery in the middle of Sunnydale." With a gesture, a shard of wood snapped off the bench and lodged in the vampire's chest. "There's always a gate-crasher."

The vampire exploded in a cloud of dust. 

"So, luv, what were you saying?"

"Duck!" A blast from her wand knocked a vampire's head off and it dissolved into dust. Her eyes scanned around and she slipped her wand away. "Any chance we can take this elsewhere?"

"Somewhere without the undead spying on us?" Grasping her hand, he made a sweeping gesture with his other hand and the air blurred around them.

Cassandra took in their change of location. "Um...I didn't mean on the roof of the house, but if you think this'll work..." Ethan gave her a small smile, that she always remembered from school. "So...Alex isn't going to get his powers."

"It's a choice of that or...well, I don't think you'd want to do the other one..."

"Try me."

Ethan studied her face. "You go to Voldemort and tell him to leave off until Alex is older and in full control of his powers." As he expected, she blanched at the thought of it, shivering violently. "Cass, do you want him to steal Alex by force?"

"I don't want him to get my baby ever." Her voice was trembling.

"He's not going to and you know it, Cass." Ethan slid an arm around her shoulder and hugged her to his side, resting his chin on the top of her head. "But if you're going to outwit a Dark Lord, you're going to have to do something terrible...you have to tell fibs to him." 

Despite the severity of the situation, Cassandra couldn't help giggling, snuggling against her long-term friend and lover's side. However, she sobered quickly. "Ethan, I-I don't think I could face him..."

"You could lie to him, though?"

"He thought that I was pleased to be carrying his child last time he saw me." She said softly, without further elaboration.

Pressing a kiss to her brow, Ethan stroked her hair gently. "You're one helluva actress, luv." He said softly. "How you could even be brave enough to look at him, let alone..." He shook his head wonderingly. "You're amazing."

"And terrified." She admitted. "I...I hoped he was dead, just so I wouldn't have to see him again."

His cheek pressed against her thick hair, Ethan pondered for a few minutes, then remarked. "I do have an idea, luv," He said. "And if we play our cards right, he won't bother us again, if Dumbledore and his pack manage to do what they're planning before Alex turns eighteen."

"Why eighteen?"

Turning her face to his, Ethan smiled. "Just trust me on this Cass."

"I think I can manage that." She smiled faintly, before meeting his lips with hers.

***

"What news?"

A visible shudder rippled around the circle of Death Eaters.

Every gathering had begun with those words since Voldemort had returned and no news had yet been found of the location of the Heir of the Dark Lord, or the mother of the child herself.

On the edge of one of the circles, the Death Eaters studied the floor, as if fascinated by it. The less one said at these meetings, the less chance you stood of being blasted with the cruciatus curse.

"Master, perhaps she is..."

"We are not here to speculate, Avery." Voldemort said quietly, his hands curled around the arms of his throne. "And, as you discovered, she was rather adept at taking care of herself, was she not?" 

The flush of humiliation from the Death Eater was almost palpable.

Before little Bones had been found to be pregnant with the Heir, Avery had tried to press his luck with her. He had not been able to walk for days and that was before he had been punished for touching the Dark Lord's concubine.

"So you wish us to continue searching?" Malfoy's voice pre-empted Voldemort's next words. 

"I want her found. I don't care if she has hexed herself." Voldemort's soft voice had grown harsh. "No more excuses. She is to be brought to me immediately. I will brook no more disappointment from you."

"Ah, what it is to feel missed." A female voice spoke from the back of the group of younger Death Eaters. Voldemort rose to his feet, trying not to show his anger at the violation of his sanctuary.

"Who dares to speak?" He hissed.

The crowd of teenage dark wizards parted, revealing a slight cloaked figure leaning against the wall, casually filing her nails. Her face was hidden by a cowl, but - as the crowd dispersed around her - she straightened up and pushed the hood back.

"Good evening." Cassandra Bones said calmly, a small, enigmatic smile on her lips.

Those of the Inner Circle who recognised her simply stared at her in astonishment, while Voldemort stepped down from the small dais upon which his throne stood, his robes rustling.

"You." Voldemort was staring at her with something akin to religious fervour.

Pushing off from the wall, Cassandra approached the Dark Lord, sinking gracefully down on her knees and lifting the hem of his robes to her lips. Brown eyes rose to him and he extended a spidery hand down to her. 

"My Lord." Drawn to her feet by the Dark Wizard, she bowed her head. "Forgive my late arrival." Her eyes flicked to the circle of Death Eaters. "I could find no one to inform me of your whereabouts."

"You have come alone?" There was a suggestion of anger in his eyes.

She raised those dark eyes to his. "My Lord, I come to beg your favour." He inclined his head for her to continue. "For fourteen years, I have raised and protected your son from the Ministry and those who would harm him. I come to beg that you allow me to continue to conceal him, until he is of age and strong enough to fight for himself with both magic and physical power."

"I would educate and protect him."

"My Lord, I am aware of this," She dropped to her knees again. "But understand that I have concealed him for so long already. Regain your empire, quash your enemies, and when you rule this world with none who would destroy your Heir, I will bring your son to you."

Voldemort seemed torn. 

Part of him clearly desired his Heir, to train in the ways of dark magic, but a great deal of what the mother was saying made sense. Better for the boy to come to a powerful empire, than to falter and be lost before that empire was secured.

"Of course." He said softly, drawing her to her feet again. His white fingertip tilted her chin up and he bestowed a smile on her. "It is comforting to find you and he are both living."

"Thank you, my Lord." 

"You will stay for a short time?" It was said as a question, but everyone in the room knew it was an order.

Brown eyes dipped down humbly. "If...if that is what you wish, my Lord, but I must return to your son..."

"Nevertheless, you will return to him, when I have finished with you." A trace of Voldemort's usual menace had returned to his voice. She stared back at him and didn't recoil as he touched his lips to hers. 

Scarlet eyes closed, but her brown ones remained open, disgust etched there. His fingers wove through her mass of gold hair and he deepened the kiss, the witch unable to fight his touch.

The Death Eaters quickly dispersed, one remaining a few seconds longer to shoot a bewildered black-eyed look at the Dark Lord and his Dark Lady, as the woman's robes dropped from her body to the floor.

With a shudder of distaste, Snape disapparated with a pop.

***

Seated on the edge of the sumptuously decked bed, Cassandra Bones replaced her shoes upon her feet, then stood up, smoothing her trousers. She turned, looking down at the Dark Lord, who was asleep in the bed.

It was strange to see him like that.

Peacefully sleeping, he almost looked...normal.

Her fingers twitched to use her wand, but she knew that the wands of almost every Death Eater were neutralised as soon as they crossed into Voldemort's domain, lest someone try to attack him.

Physical attack was also pointless. 

Even if she had been armed with more muggle-esque weapons, he would probably have woken and subdued her long before she could do much damage with her small, daintier form.

Sighing, she crossed the floor to pick up her black cloak and swung it around her thin shoulders, her back to the bed as she painstakingly fastened the bronze clasp at her throat. 

A gasp of fright escaped her as bone-thin hands came down on her shoulders. "Did I give you leave to depart?" His voice was a low hiss, his breath cold against her neck and she shuddered.

"You...you were sleeping. I-I did not want to disturb you." She tilted her head slightly to look up at him.

"Very well." He traced a cool fingertip down her cheek, a slow smile reaching his lips. "I trust you will keep me informed of my son's progress." Cassandra nodded immediately, shivering. "I will await your correspondences."

Bowing her head, she turned to him. "May I leave now, my Lord?"

"Yes." Sweeping to one side, he allowed her access to the door. "Do not forget, child, I wish to be informed."

Nodding, Cassandra bowed her head once more, before disapparating from the main hall of the Dark Lord's Domain.

***

"Are...are you all right, Xander?"

Staring blindly at the TV screen, Alexander didn't turn at Willow's voice from behind him. He was distracted, trying to work out what could possibly be upsetting his mother.

She had been nervous, lately, jumpy. He couldn't put his finger on what could be affecting her, but he had to admit that a lot more weird stuff than usual seemed to be happening around Sunnydale.

That was probably it.

Beside him, the cushions of the couch shifted slightly and he turned to find Willow's concerned eyes studying him. Smiling weakly, he nodded towards the television. "Its the Snoopy Special."

"I know." She didn't look away from him, her brow wrinkling. "Xander, is there something wrong?" He opened his mouth to answer, but knew that whatever he was about to say would be a lie. "Xander, you can tell me..."

"It...it's okay, Will." He faked a smile. "Mom's just been kinda stressed out so I was thinking about her." The red head nodded patiently.

Of all the people he knew, Willow was the one who knew him best, knew about the issues his family had. Even Jesse couldn't say he knew everything about Alexander, while Wilow could name the dates he lost his first tooth, first rode a bike, first ate solid food...

She and his mother were never short of conversation material, he admitted with a quiet laugh, turning back towards the television. He had regularly walked into the kitchen in mornings, in his pyjamas, to find them sitting and talking about him.

"Hey!" He pointed to the television. "The Snoopy Dance!"

Scrambling over the arm of the couch, he immediately started dancing and Willow hid her mouth behind her hand, giggling. Even with their twelve years of friendship, she still covered her mouth when she laughed, as if it was something bad.

As he danced, he didn't notice her smile fading, her green eyes that were fixed on him still filled with concern. Maybe he had said everything was all right, but she knew better than that.

All she wanted to do was help him, but unable to do that, she applauded politely as he finished his dance, taking a bow and bouncing back down beside her on the couch, noticing the snacks she was carrying. "Ooh! Popcorn."

Holding out the bowl to him, Willow jolted as he flopped down, his head in her lap and continued to watch the Snoopy Special, munching on handfuls of popcorn. Her fingers stroked through his hair gently.

A tiny smile crossed her lips. 

Maybe she couldn't help him...but this was good enough for her now.

***

"Did it work?" Watching her son and his friend watching the television in the living room, through a narrow gap in the kitchen door, Cassandra spoke into the phone in a hushed voice. "Is he going to leave us alone?" 

Ethan's familiar voice came back to her, sounding as strained as hers was. "I dunno about that yet, luv." He said. "What he said isn't enough of a guarantee?"

"It's never enough." She whispered. "You need to find out if the Death Eaters have been taken off our trail."

"I've got a meeting with Poison in about an hour or so, so I'll let you know as soon as I know."

"You...you sound tired."

He chuckled wearily. "I've been continent-hopping for the last two days straight almost... does tend to get a bit exhausting." He yawned. "Cassie, I don't wanna stop talking to you, but I..."

"I know, Ethan." She smiled sadly. "You sound like you're almost asleep as it is."

"I have to go to see Poison. I have to know you're safe. You and Alex." There was a moment's pause. "Skeleton?"

"Yes?"

"You know I love you, don't you?" Tears stung in Cassandra's eyes. She could hear the exhaustion, pain and longing in his voice. He was so far away and all she wanted to do was hold him. "Don't you?"

"Yes." She spoke hoarsely. "I love you too."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what." 

She could visualize the tired smile on his lined face. "Go and look after your little boy, Cass." He ordered gently. "I'll talk to you as soon as I know any more about this whole mess." 

"Take care, Ethan."

"You too, Skeleton." There was a quiet click, then the dull tone of the phone. 

Cassandra hung the phone back in its cradle, leaning against the wall as twin tears rolled silently down her cheeks. Pressing her eyes shut, she forced down another wave and wiped her eyes with the heel of her right hand. 

Sniffing hard, she blinked to hide any evidence of tears. Withdrawing her wand, she conjured a plate of pungent, golden-brown onion rings, her most reliable excuse when she emerged from the kitchen with watery eyes.

Picking it up, after concealing her wand, she pushed the door open. "Hey kids! What are you watching?"

***

"Are you insane?!" 

Those were the first words that greeted Ethan as he apparated into the basement of Honeydukes. Illuminated by the flickering glow from the tip of his wand, Severus Snape was glaring at him furiously, black eyes glittering.

"Now that's not the welcome I was looking for." Wearily sitting down on one of the crates, Ethan ran a hand through his curly hair. "Sev, sit down, would you? You look like you're about to have a heart attack."

"How could you do something so idiotic?"

Green eyes met black. "Idiotic how?"

"How could you send her in there? What if he hadn't allowed her to leave?"

Ethan shook his head. "It wouldn't have made any difference." He said quietly.

"Surely you considered her son!" Snape was pacing angrily across the floor, sending clouds of dust in the air. "What if he had been left motherless, because you - the fool that you are - sent his mother straight to HIM?"

One hand rose. "Sev, like I said, it wouldn't have made a difference."

"She could have been placed under the cruciatus curse! Or the imperius!" His voice rising with rage, Snape turned on his ally, his fists balled. "She could have been killed and the effort put in by you and I would be in vain!"

"SEV!" Ethan's voice rose angrily. "Shut up for a moment!" His head drooped to his chest, his posture speaking of utter physical exhaustion. Snape seemed to notice and reluctantly sat down on the edge of another crate. "She was never there."

"What are you talking about?" Snape demanded irritably. "I saw her there. They saw her there. HE saw her there."

Ethan shook his head slowly from side to side, as if it were very heavy. "No, you didn't." He said softly. "It wasn't her."

"It...wasn't little Bones?" Ethan shook his head again. "Then who was it..." Green eyes - ringed with dark circles - met black again. Snape recoiled in shock, his mouth falling open. "No..."

"Polyjuice is incredible stuff." Ethan looked down at his hands, which were gripping his knees through his trousers. His voice was so low that Snape could barely hear a word he was saying.

"But You-Know-Who..." Disgust, awe and shock rivaled for places on the sallow-skinned teacher's face. He seemed to be having trouble finding words to express what he was thinking. "Ethan, he took her...I mean, he...you...surely you didn't..."

Ethan's eyes locked onto his hands again. "I did what was necessary to protect little Bones and the boy." His voice shook slightly, then he looked up at Snape. "She can never know, Sev. Do you understand me? She. Must. Never. Know."

Snape nodded dumbly, unsure of what to say.

"You..." After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, he spoke. "You must care a great deal for her."

"More than you know." Ethan acknowledged. "But that isn't why I'm here. Has he called off the search?"

The Potions Master nodded. "His attention is more focused on returning to the position he was in before his fall." His bony hands drummed on the top of the crate pensively. "I think he wants to wage war on Hogwarts, though. He wants Dumbledore out of the way."

"Is it possible?"

"Well, Dumbledore is finally being forced to acknowledge that he is no longer as young as he used to be..." Snape sadly admitted. "However, I believe that it's going to take some time for Voldemort to regain his full powers. By the time he is ready, who can say? There may be someone...or a group strong enough to face him."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

Snape smiled thinly. "I can ensure that the next generation of Death Eaters are lacking in magical skill and prowess, so that gives us a small advantage. We can hope that it - and the powerful muggle-borns - will be of use."

Ethan got to his feet slowly. "Thanks, Sev." He held out a hand, which Snape immediately enclosed with his own. Black met green again. "I'll keep in touch...you can have the privilege of being the envoy of the Mother of the Heir."

"Oh the joy."

Chuckling, the sandy-haired Wizard smiled. "I thought you would say that." He squeezed Snape's hand tightly. "Thanks for your help, Sev." The sincerity in his voice surprised the darker wizard. "Keep safe, all right?"

"Concern for my well-being?" 

Ethan grinned, a boyish look crossing his rapidly-aging face. "Where else would I find a supplier as efficient as you?"

"Selfish bastard." Snape returned the grin wryly.

"Conceited git." Ethan released Snape's hand. "Like I said, take care."

"And you, Ethan. I'd hate to lose my best customer." 

Shaking his head, Ethan disapparated with a pop. Less than a heartbeat later, there was another popping sound and the basement of the shop was - once more - empty, but for supplies, dust and the occasional mouse.

***

"Yes, Cass, I'm positive." Soaking in a steaming bath, Ethan held the phone against his ear with one hand, while scrubbing viciously at his body with a rough sponge with the other hand. "I spoke to Poison..."

"But he could be lying...or wrong!"

Wincing as he scrubbed harder, Ethan sighed. "Cass, luv, trust me. Sev wasn't lying about this. The hunt is off. All you have to do is worry about the Hellmouth reacting to your old man's resurfacing dark powers."

Cassandra's voice sounded tiny. "I still find it hard to believe a Death Eater."

"He hasn't blabbed about you or your squirt in the last fourteen years, Cass." Ethan reminded her. "I don't think he's about to start now." 

"Yeah...I know..." There was a soft sigh. "Thanks, Ethan." He heard her gasp with fright or surprise. "I have to go, Ethan!" She said sharply. "Robert just got home."

"Love you."

"You too."

As the phone rang off, he quickly tossed it across the bathroom to land in the pile of his clothes. His attention returned to his lean body, a few scars dashed here and there to remind him to stay out of trouble.

The sponge was still grating against his skin and he wasn't surprised to see that he had scrubbed his chest and arms raw, while talking to Cassie, the tiny beads of blood gathering and spreading in a wash of pink over his torso.

He didn't care about the blood, though.

Anything, to feel vaguely clean again. 

Drawing a deep breath, he submerged himself beneath the steaming, scented water, felt his skin prickling with the intense heat of the liquid.

He braced his hands against the smooth sides of the bath, letting the heat envelope him, sounds around him muffled by the fluid burbling softly in his ears, his eyes pressed shut.

Erupting from the water, gasping as the cold air around the ice-white bathroom hit his soaking body, he swallowed great gulps of air, slumping back against the end of the bath.

Panting, he closed his eyes, instinctively reaching for the sponge again.

He knew what Voldemort had done to him could not be classed as rape, since he had forced himself to go along with it, but the physical violation of his borrowed form had felt personal and it had sickened him.

A shudder past through Ethan, as he recalled the horrible sensations of the spidery hands moving on the illusion of Cassandra's body, his stomach tightening.

Leaning over the edge of the bath, he retched wetly, the contents of his half-empty stomach splattering on the white tiles of the floor. Half-hanging over the edge of the bath, shivering from the cold, the wizard shuddered as a sob escaped him.

The raw, animalistic sobs increased in ferocity, all the pain, despair for his lover and the sheer sense of uselessness he felt, which had been bottled up for so long erupting from the wizard.

How could she have survived that?

Had she felt as disgusted with herself as he did now?

Did she feel as cheap and useless when Voldemort had degraded her?

Burying his face in his arms, folded on the smooth edge of the bath, Ethan broke down entirely. 

If he felt so horrific and so disgusted with himself after one night of shame, he knew that he had felt nothing compared to his lover. He knew what he felt must have been a drop in her ocean...

And yet...

How could one such small and insignificant a person be so strong?

"The bastard knew what he was doing when he picked her out." The wizard said softly, to no one in particular. "He knew she would be able to cope with whatever was thrown at her."

Stumbling out of the bath, he groped for a towel, drying himself and dressing again rapidly, in his pyjama bottoms and T-shirt that served as sleeping garb. Another shiver ran through him.

He was fully-clothed and yet...yet...he felt naked.

Stripping off, he pulled on his faithful and thicker shirt and trousers. Making his way through to the Motel room he had acquired, he pulled back the covers on the bed and crawled between them, pulling the blankets up to his chin

Closing his heavy eyes, he felt all the aches and strains pouring through his rigid body into the mattress beneath him. He was so tired, he knew that he would sleep like a log tonight.

His eyes snapped open as footsteps sounded in the hallway. Ethan froze, his heart thundering against his ribs. The footfalls past and there was silence again.

Yes, he would sleep like a log tonight.

That is, he felt the sting of tears, if he dared to close his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7 : The Struggle

One Year Later - No. 6 in the Harry Potter series (No idea of the book title)

Notes: Yet again, I'm off one some weird tangent from Rowling. If she starts doing what I'm about to do in this chapter, I'll be very surprised. Mind you, we are both strange, Scottish female writers...

Anyway, on to the chapter: This is where things are going to get darker and nastier and there IS going to be a reason at the end of the chapter about why I do a particular thing with a certain character. (You'll know it when you see it, so PLEASE stick around for the explanation, because I do have a reason for this happening)

This is going to be more HP-centric as well, as opposed to mainly Buffy. I'll try and get an equal balance back in the next couple of chapters, but I have to do things this way for the time being. Hope you like...if you like dark and icky ;)

Also, I've put together a Harry potter crossover list, if anyone is interested in joining - its muy quiet at the moment, but it'll be where all future HP crossovers are aired in my case: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hpcrossover 

_____________________

Chapter Seven - The Struggle

"Earth to Xander! Come in, Xander!"

"Huh?" Blinking, Alexander stared momentarily at the hand waving in front of his face, then to the owner of that hand. Jesse grinned at him and Alexander sheepishly grinned back. "Was I doing it again?"

"Jaw was almost on the floor this time." Jesse confirmed, leaning over the edge of the windowsill to watch the show.

Both of the fifteen-year-old boys had never been more grateful for the fact that the Harris' neighbours had a sprinkler system in the back garden, which their teenage daughter and her friends used regularly during summer as a cooling device.

On this particular day, the pair were watching half a dozen bikini-clad fifteen-year-old girls running around the garden, squealing with laughter, as the ice-cold spray washed over them.

Although they were loathe to admit, the one girl that drew their attention the most in what could be called the aesthetically-pleasing sense - despite the lack of running-through-sprinklers - was Cordelia Chase.

The brunette was lazing on a sun-lounger, her already bronzed skin revealed to the elements, a stylish pair of sunglasses propped artistically on top of her thick hair as she surveyed her minions at play.

The boys had randomly imagined Cordelia as having a stunning figure, which was a bad thing because they were meant to hate her, but they had never realised just how close they were.

Cordelia Chase had the kind of figure that no fifteen-year-old girl truly had the right to have.

"And what are you two up to?"

Scrambling off the windowsill guiltily at the amused voice of Mrs Harris, Alexander and Jesse exchanged glances. They had had contingency ideas about what they were going to use as their excuse, but neither could remember which excuse they had decided on as the final one.

"Uh..."

"Well..."

"We weren't watching the girls next door." Jesse said, hopefully.

Mrs Harris smiled slightly. "I'm sure you weren't." She looked like she was about to say something else, when she suddenly went rigid, her eyes widening. The colour flooded from her cheeks and she leaned heavily against the doorframe. "Oh..."

"Mom?" Alexander took a step forward, eyeing her with concern. "Are you okay?"

Mrs Harris nodded once, stiffly. "Yes...yes, I'm fine." Straightening up, she smiled, although it looked strangely forced to her son. "There are some brownies on the table downstairs, if you want them."

"Brownies? Neat!" Jesse raced out the door and pounded down the stairs.

Alexander followed more slowly, pausing to look down at his mother. In the last year, he had shot up in height and was already taller than her. "Are you sure you're okay, mom?"

She didn't speak, just jerked her chin up and down several times. "You go...enjoy the brownies." Her voice sounded hoarse, almost as if she was in pain.

Reluctantly, her son started down the stairs, but he still turned and looked over his shoulder in time to see his delicate mother walk stiffly into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

***

Snape wanted to leave.

He wanted to be anywhere except the place he was.

Standing on the edges of the room, he was trying to ignore what was going on in front of him, his instinct to protect his pupils driving him insane, especially in the circumstances that they were in now.

Hogsmeade was no longer as safe as Professor Dumbledore had assumed it to be and this particular...ploy had been one that Snape had known nothing about, until it was too late to prevent it from happening.

During the Hogsmeade weekend, several days before, one of the Death Eaters had managed to grab the girl, as she waited for her friends, outside one of the small shops on the outskirts of the village.

Using a port-key, the Death Eater and his victim had vanished from the scene before anyone could even think to raise an alarm, the girl's disappearance sending waves of panic through the 'good' wizarding world.

It hadn't been enormously well-planned, the idea being that faith in Dumbledore would dissipate, should one of his precious pupils be snatched from beneath his very long and crooked nose.

Now, the unfortunate pupil of choice was cowering at the centre of the circle of Death Eaters, her robes hanging in tatters. She was sobbing in fear, her arms raised above her head to fend off more blows.

Despite all the magical capabilities wizards had, Snape was the first to notice they loved physical violence as much as the worst muggle.

"Enough."

From behind the black and silver velvet drapes that hung down behind the throne, Voldemort emerged smoothly. He certainly knew how to make a dramatic entrance, the room falling silently instantly.

"We have a young guest, I see." He studied the whimpering girl, who was trying her best to make herself as small as possible. 

Snape felt a pang of fury. Part of him wished he could draw his wand and kill the poor child, before she ended up being used for entertainment for the pack of laughing Death Eaters.

"P-please...don't hurt me..."

Voldemort glided towards her, his eyes fixed on hers. She seemed unable to tear her rude stare away, shivering so violently that her teeth were clattering together. "Who said that I had any intention of harming you, child?"

Wisely, she made no reply, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Rise." He commanded quietly. Shaking so violently she could barely keep her footing, the young witch-in-training managed to get to her feet and swayed where she stood, clutching her ragged robes around her. "Let me see your face."

The tear-stained and dirty face was lifted to him. He studied her intently for a long moment, raising his wands and touching it to her brow. The witch looked like she was about to faint from terror.

"Eradico." The dirt and tears seemed to spring from her features, leaving her pale cheeks clean, shining and pink from the force of the spell that cleaned them. "Ah, my dear, now I remember you..."

Brown eyes stared at him. "No..."

"Of course, you don't remember me like this..." With a casual sweep of his wand, a simple glamour spell meant that Voldemort's features were masked with the features he had been born with, as Tom Riddle. "Is this better?"

The young witch gasped, staring at him. "T-Tom?"

"Yes, Ginny." His thin hand came up and cupped her chin tenderly. Ginny Weasley recoiled, shuddering, but the Dark Lord maintained the facade, pulling a look of hurt onto his human face. "Ginny, what is it?"

"Get away from me...get away..." She started to back away, but was blocked by two large Death Eaters. 

Voldemort held out a hand to her, playing the part of the spurned lover astoundingly well. "What did I do, Ginny? Don't you remember how much I cared about you? How much we talked...?"

At the sidelines, Snape felt physically sick watching. He knew what Voldemort was doing. He had seen the manipulations of the Dark lord far too many times and he knew that he was incapable of stopping it.

The fifteen-year-old witch was shaking her head despairingly, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Ginny, please...I don't know what happened...someone possessed me..."

"Stop it...you're not him..."

"But I am, Ginny...and I still care for you...you know I do..." Ginny shook her head, her sobs becoming audible. It was clear that she had held a great deal of affection for the 'Tom' she had known, four years earlier.

After all, Tom Riddle was definitely a handsome boy. His vivid poison-green eyes and mop of unruly black hair caused a striking resemblance between him and Potter, which Voldemort was clearly manipulating.

"Please...don't..."

"All I want to do is take care of you, Ginny." Motioning for fresh robes from the other Death Eaters, Voldemort wrapped the thick material around her shoulders with a display of deceptive gentleness.

"Let me go home." She croaked, her struggle to pull free from him and the warm, soft robes growing more feeble by the minute.

"I can't, Ginny...they won't let me do that..." He shot a look around at the group, which the girl would probably interpret as anger, but they saw the malevolent glee glittering in his red-tinted green eyes.

Sagging against him, sobbing, Ginny allowed herself to be navigated towards his bed chamber, out of sight, the Dark Lord's arms wrapped around the girl almost as if he truly did care for her.

If there was something Voldemort excelled in, it was the art of persuasion. Within days, it was practically guaranteed that the Dark Lord would get the required effects, without having to resort to any magic on his victim. 

Snape lowered his eyes, trying not to think about it.

All he could do was prepare Hogwarts for the worst.

***

The door of the dungeon crashed open, causing the Potions Master to look up, in time to get punched across the face by a sixth year boy. 

The force of the blow caught him off-guard and he staggered back against the bench he was working at, knocking over his small cauldron, boiling liquid searing the skin of his arm.

"What did you do that for?" Ronald Weasley demanded furiously. "You just left her there, you bastard!"

Bringing up a hand to massage his throbbing cheek, Snape studied the boy, whose face was almost as red with fury as his hair was on a regular basis. "Had this been any other circumstance, Weasley, I would have had you expelled."

"But I have a damn good excuse this time, you slimy prick." Weasley snarled, his hands balled into fists by his sides. "That...thing has my little sister and you just left her there!"

"You expect me to walk in, collect her from the Dark Lord and return with her? If it's that easy, I'm sure you would be much better at rescues than you could be under my tuition." The Potions Master wondered just how angry the boy would get.

Ron's face purpled with rage and he grabbed the front of Snape's robes, shaking him savagely. "She's just a kid! You abandoned a fifteen-year-old girl with him! How can you live with yourself?"

"I did what I had to. I do not need to make excuses to angry children."

Gritting his teeth, Snape allowed another savage punch to catch him across the face, the boy visibly shaking with outrage. He knew the boy needed some kind of catharsis, before he could speak to him logically.

"You didn't want to help her, did you?" The boy's voice was ringing off the domed ceiling of the dark dungeon and the Potions Master was surprised that no one had come to see what all the noise was about. "Because she's a Weasley! Because she's not one of your precious Slytherins!"

"That is NOT the case, Weasley." Snape snarled dangerously. "I would do the same for any pupil!"

"What? Leave them to rot?" Weasley yelled.

"Would you prefer me to bring her back dead?" Snape hissed.

That seemed to hit home, the hands gripping the front of Snape's robes loosening, as the boy sagged, his face crumpling with grief. "She's my baby sister," He moaned in despair. "My little sister...and I can't help her."

Much to his own surprise, Snape put his arms around the boy, as Ron Weasley let the sobs come forth, his shoulders heaving with the violence of his self-hatred at his inability to help his only sister.

"You couldn't know it would happen, boy." Snape murmured soothingly, his silky voice a wonderfully calming influence when he chose to make it so. "You wouldn't have been able to prevent it, any more than I could."

Gradually, the sobs faded and - somewhat embarrassed - Ron let himself be directed to one of the vacant stools, beside the bench, as Snape moved to the gargoyle tap and sloshed icy water over the blister that was forming nicely on his hand.

"Why couldn't you stop it?" Ron asked carefully, as if expecting a punishment for his behaviour of moments before.

Dabbing the burn with some lotion from a bottle, Snape's black eyes flicked to Ron and he sighed. "You wouldn't understand it, boy." He winced, studying the blister. "I doubt I even understand it."

"But he won't kill her...?" The desperate hope in the boy's shaking voice made Snape's heart wrench.

"I can't be sure, Weasley." He turned his back on the boy to restart the potion, but it was mainly because he couldn't face looking the hopeful youth in the eyes. "He may try to take her to the dark side."

"Not Ginny. She would never."

The bone-headed stubbornness of the Weasley boy made Snape smile slightly. He didn't want to be the one to remind the boy that only four years previously, his sister had accidentally given herself over to the dark side without realising.

"There is always a possibility that he will let her go."

"There...there is? I thought he..." Ron trailed off.

This time, he knew had to face the boy with the truth. Turning, he caught Ron's eyes with his. "It all depends," He said gravely. "On what You-Know-Who has done to or with them. Sometimes, those who are returned prefer to die anyway..."

"Not Ginny." Ron whispered.

"Be sure to let her know that, if she returns." The Potions Master suggested in a quiet voice. "Give her a reason to want to live."

The boy looked down at his fists, which were clenched on his knees, and nodded slowly. Then, he did something that Snape never expected. He stood and held out a hand to the Professor. Snape hesitantly grasped the boy's hand in his own.

"Thank you." Ron stated firmly. 

"For what?"

The flame-haired boy shrugged. "I don't know." He honestly answered. "For telling me the truth, I s'pose." His eyes scanned the blooming bruises on Snape's jaw. "And for letting me hit you...it...kind of helped."

A weary smile crossed Snape's face. "You're welcome, Weasley, only..." He gave Ron a subtle look, as they parted their hands.

"Don't worry," Ron said gruffly, stuffing his hands quickly into his pockets. "I'm not about to go running off to tell Harry and Hermione that I cried on the Potions Master's robes." He smiled weakly. "Thanks for that as well, though."

"And you, Weasley." Snape bowed his head slightly. "You reminded me that what I'm doing is still worth fighting for." 

That said, he turned back to his work and Weasley turned and walked out of the dungeon, silence the only thing left between them.

***

It as almost three months since Ginny's capture.

The Ministry had given up on the search several weeks earlier, none of them having the faintest idea where to start looking, although the rest of the Weasley family had continued their fruitless search for their youngest member.

Snape had been left to watch over the girl, who now shared a bed Voldemort - or Tom as she still called him. Despite the fact that she had been manipulated into a relationship with the Dark Lord, she was still terrified of the Death Eaters.

Perhaps, he mused, watching her clutching blankets around her fearfully as he paced the bed chamber, it was because she saw Tom Riddle's face, instead of the true face of the Dark Lord and the masks of the Death Eaters.

She had turned sixteen during her captivity, something that the Dark Lord had seen as significant. He had toyed with her up until that moment, then - as she reached her first coming of age - seduced her with soft words of affection and tenderness.

Ginny - Snape could see it in her haunted eyes - was falling desperately in love with the gentle illusion of love the Voldemort had presented her with. 

It was hardly surprising, considering the particular conditions she was being held under, isolated in the grim, black-walled halls of Voldemort's home and visited only by mocking, frightening figures in cloaks and masks. 

For her to take comfort from the only kind and 'maskless' face in their number, the young man who treated her with gentle affection, it was impossible for any lost girl not to fall in love with the handsome wizard.

Normally, she stayed hidden away when Voldemort greeted his followers, her fear of them palpable from the next room. That was the only time he unmasked his face, so she would only ever see him as Tom.

Up until this day, he had never left her in his home, but he believed he had enough control over her and, leaving Snape, he and the rest of the Death Eaters had gone on a muggle hunt, for some entertainment.

He knew she would be waiting for him to return.

And Snape knew from that that Voldemort was almost ready to break the child.

Snape ceased pacing and sat down in a large, elaborate silvery chair near the drapes that led into the main hall of the Lair. From behind his mask, he studied the girl crouched on the bed.

He had considered trying to spirit her out, but Voldemort had placed some additional spells around the darkened chambers - with both Snape and Ginny surreptitiously watching - which would kill anyone who tried to depart without permission.

The Potions Master tapped his fingertips together. Even if he had tried, he knew that Ginny wouldn't go anywhere unless her precious Tom told her to do so and he really didn't want to frighten her anymore than he had to. 

"Are you hungry, child?" He asked, keeping his voice as gentle as he could. The girl shook her head vehemently. "Cold?" Again, she only shook her head and he stood up with an impatient sigh, striding towards the bed.

"Don't hurt me!" She scrambled back across the covers, slamming back against the headboard. "Tom told you to leave me alone...he said so..."

Snape sat down on the end of the broad bed, not going any closer to her. "I'm not going to hurt you, child. I would never dream of doing such a thing." He said softly, trying to catch her eyes with his. 

Withdrawing his wand, he tried to ignore her whimper of terror, and conjured a plate of food and a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

Ginny stared at it, her brown eyes huge and suspicious. "Wh-what's that for?" She demanded hoarsely.

"It's for you, child. You haven't eaten."

The girl laughed, high and strained, her expression wild. "How do I know that you haven't done something to it? You might have poisoned it! You might have because Tom told you to leave me alone!"

"Do you want proof, child?" He took a little of the warm, soft bread and chewed it.

Before he had even swallowed it, the girl had scrambled across the bed, the thick hot chocolate splashing onto the covers as she neared, grabbing the bread from his hand and devouring it as if she hadn't seen food in months.

Gulping down the hot chocolate, she cleared the dish of food in minutes, keeping a soft roll gripped tightly in her hands. 

Scrambling back to the headboard, her knees pulled up to her chest, the flimsy nightshirt she was wearing doing little to disguise her figure, she nibbled on the roll, staring anxiously at Snape. 

"Why did you do that?" She asked shakily.

"You looked hungry."

Ginny blinked at him, as if trying to comprehend this strange kindness from a dark and frightening creature that - to her - represented pain and torment. Shivering, her hands held up in front of her chest, she stared at him. "Wh-who are you?"

"No one in particular." He answered quietly. "No one to be proud of."

She squinted a him, as if this response had puzzled her, then returned to chewing on her roll. Snape remained where he was, watching her frantic, scared movements, until they heard the sound of voices from the next room.

Ginny all but flew off the bed.

"Tom!"

Reluctantly following her through the drapes, Snape saw the girl crash straight into the disguised Voldemort's arms, his throat constricting at the cruel expression on Riddle's face, his bloody hands pushing Ginny back from him.

It was time, he knew.

Now, they would find out just how strong the poor child really was.

***

"Shit..." Snape nodded. Sitting on a crate opposite him, Ethan shook his head, his face looking drawn and haggard by the light of the wands. "He really is a sick bastard, isn't he?"

"I think that goes without saying."

"Poor kid." The sandy-haired wizard stared down at his hands, curled in white-knuckled fists in his lap. "At least she's back in the safety of her friends and family now... that's a good thing." He saw the look on Snape's face. "Isn't it?"

"Think about it, Ethan." The Potions Master's voice shook. "You're convinced this one individual loves you. You share all kinds of secrets with them and then, just when you think you can't love them even a fraction more, they take your heart and smash it into irreparable pieces." He raised black eyes to Ethan's. "He broke her heart and made her feel as worthless as one person can feel. She was used in the worst way by the Dark Lord. She feels like she's worth less than dirt."

"I can safely say I've been there, done that and burned the T-shirt." Ethan muttered grimly. "What can be done to help her?"

"We don't know." Snape admitted wearily. "She's back at Hogwarts, because that really is the safest place she can be at the moment." He studied his hands. "They're taking care of her and trying to help her."

"But they don't know what they're dealing with." Ethan finished. He sighed. "I think there's only a few people in the world who have felt like she does now, thanks to You-Know-Who."

"And you're one of them?"

Green eyes blazed briefly, but the flare of wariness faded and Ethan nodded. "It took me months before I could sleep through the night without waking up in the middle of a nightmare."

"Do you have any suggestions about how we could help her?"

Ethan's lips straightened in a thin smile. "Don't let her anywhere near poisons or anything that might be able to kill her." He answered, his expression one of deadly seriousness. "If she hates herself as much as I hated myself after just one night, then suicide will seem like a relief."

"I'll let Dumbledore know."

"The sooner the better." Ethan nodded, digging into his pocket and pulling out a scrap of paper. "But, if you need to get in contact with me and can't get me through the fire, in case of an emergency," Snape didn't need to ask what 'emergency' meant and took the paper, which had a number scribbled on it. "It's a muggle phone number. Get to a town with a phone and dial it. I'll be here as soon as possible."

"What could you possibly do?"

Ethan studied the potions master for a long moment, then answered slowly. "If I can manage to arrange it, I'll try and get the girl to talk to the one person who has suffered as much as she has."

Snape went pale. "You can't mean you'll bring Bones to her..."

"No. Nothing as dramatic as that." Ethan glanced around, as if checking the walls weren't listening. "You'll get old Dumble's permission to take the girl to a specialist and we'll meet halfway, in a no-man's-land." 

"Do you think we'll have to resort to that?" When Ethan made no reply, his jaw tightening, Snape nodded. "If the worst comes to the worst, I'll get in touch and we'll see what can be done."

"Thanks, Sev."

"Take care, all right?"

"And you."

Two pops sounded and the basement was empty and dark once again.

***

Standing in the hospital wing, over the bed of the girl, Dumbledore's brow was lined with grief and concern. The room was silent, the high curtains pulled around the bed to shield it from prying eyes.

The Weasley family had just been ushered out of the medical wing by Madam Pomfrey, Molly Weasley sobbing in despair at the sight of her little girl looking so still and weak.

Little Ginny Weasley had somehow got hold of poison.

She had been hiding in the lower parts of the dungeons, in the darkness, and had been found just in time by the Potions Master, who seemed to instinctively know that she needed help.

Snape had scooped the fragile young woman up in his arms, shouting at a house elf to fetch Dumbledore, running to his own class room and rapidly brewing the antidote for whatever it was she had taken. 

He had been in the process of forcing the glutinous black liquid down her throat when Professor Dumbledore had reached the dungeon. The sight was one that the Head Master hoped he would never have to see again, the girl thrashing on the work bench, as she tried to escape Snape's purgative potion.

Fortunately, she was too weak to fend him off, the potion doing its work, and within minutes, the poison she had taken erupted from her mouth in a burst of mouldy-looking fluid.

She had then collapsed on the bench and Snape had said nothing, as he gathered her up and followed the silent Head Master towards the hospital wing, Ginny Weasley limp in his arms.

Dumbledore heard footfalls beyond the drapes.

"Head master?" As soon as the Weasleys had arrived, Snape had departed, but now that they were gone, he had come back to the medical wing, slipping through the curtains to stand alongside Dumbledore.

"I never imagined she would be so desperately shattered." Blue eyes rested on the motionless girl. "She's lucky that you found her, Severus, and that you knew what she had taken."

"Luck had nothing to do with it, Head Master. I was warned she may react like this."

Dumbledore sighed quietly. "What do you suggest we do? After all, you seem to have more knowledge of these situations than I."

A closed look crossed Snape's face, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "I have heard of someone who...may help." He said, wondering if his voice sounded as rigid to Dumbledore as it did to him. "I would have to take her to this...associate secretly."

"I'm sure we can arrange it, Severus."

Snape felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his thin shoulders. It was just like the Head Master, to respect him and what he believed would help, where everyone else would simply believe he was bluffing.

"I would have to contact the middle-man."

"Of course."

"And no one could know about it."

"I understand entirely." Dumbledore gave the Potions Master a faint smile. "If you can do anything salvage this poor child's mind from the darkness, I would gladly give my right arm to help."

Snape nodded. "Thank you, Head Master. I'll arrange it as soon as possible."

***

"P-Professor Snape?" 

Snape was seated beside the bed of the youngest Weasley and looked up when her hoarse voice spoke his name. "Miss Weasley," He smiled slightly. "It's a relief to see you are conscious again."

"You stopped me." She whispered, tears brimming in her brown eyes.

"Death did not deserve you, child." He said softly. "Just as Riddle did not."

Ginny eyes widened in fear. "You...you were there!" She gasped, trying to shakily back away across the bed, but still too weak to do so.

Snape didn't move, gazing at her. "I was, Miss Weasley." He admitted. "I wish I had been able to prevent what he did to you, but - unfortunately - he is still more powerful than I am." 

"Wh-what do you want from me? Why did you stop me?" She demanded, the suspicion returning to her dark, haunted eyes. She had stopped trying to move away, though, staring at his face intently.

"I want to help you, child." One of his thin hands came out and hesitantly covered hers. She shuddered, but - he noticed with relief - she didn't pull away. "Will you allow me to do so?"

"How?"

Wondering how much he should reveal to the girl, he looked down at his hand, which was still covering hers. "I have a...an associate, who knows someone, who was put through a similar ordeal as you. He would have you meet her."

"And...and she's alive?"

"I would hope so." Snape actually smiled. "It would be rather...unpleasant to have you meet a zombie." To his surprise, the girl laughed weakly, her fingers contracting lightly around his. "Would you allow me to take you to her?"

"A-all right." She whispered.

***

Cassandra stared out at the open sea, the setting sun washing her with it's warm golden light. Why she had been told to come to this meeting she knew, but why it was being held on the West side of the Seychelles, she didn't.

Not that she minded.

Clad in a aqua coloured bikini and matching sarong, she closed her eyes, inhaling the salty tang of the sea air, which was tainted with just enough of the tropical scents, making her smile.

Her toes dug into the soft, white sand of the beach, her almost waist-length hair hanging around her shoulders. 

It felt so wonderful to be out of the darkness of the Hellmouth and free like this, knowing that this Island was one of the only places in the World where no witch or wizard resided.

Her son was staying at Jesse's house, so she didn't even have him to worry about.

A crackle from behind her caught her attention and she turned, a broad smile coming to her lips instantly. "Ethan!" Scrambling onto her feet, she ran towards the sandy-haired wizard, who caught her in a tight embrace. "I missed you."

"Likewise, Skeleton." He buried his face in the curly mass of her hair and inhaled deeply. "You smell just like I remembered you smelling." He mumbled, his voice muffled by her mane.

"And how's that?"

"Of rotten eggs and dung bombs." He grinned, holding her at arm's length to study her, almost forgetting about the pair behind him, who were watching the reunion with interest. "God, Cass, you look good."

"I look a helluva lot older, Ethan." She replied. It was true. The return of the Dark Lord had aged her, the constant worry about what was happening in the wizarding world concerning her more than ever.

"Still look great to me, Cassie." He claimed a brief, hard kiss, then hugged her to him again, his eyes burning with tears. "I missed you so bloody much." Sniffing hard, she nodded her agreement.

"Ahem?" 

The couple shook themselves, drawing their attention back to the other pair on the deserted strip of beach. Snape was standing, in his regulation robes, one hand on the shoulder of a wisp of a girl, who was staring fearfully at Cassandra.

"You!" The blonde woman stepped back at the sight of Snape, the panic in her eyes similar to what he had initially seen in Ginny's. She looked up at Ethan questioningly. "What's he doing here?"

"I had to bring our friend here." He replied softly, inclining his head towards the silent girl beside him. "Dumbledore trusted me to take care of her."

Cassandra's brown eyes narrowed warily, then she turned her attention to the flame-haired girl standing beside the Potions Master. Like him, she was wearing robes that were clutched around her body. 

Her face looked gaunt, her dark brown eyes seemed enormous, filled with fear and shame. Dark circles ringed them, as well as the redness that suggested that she had been crying a lot.

The grim expression in the older witch's eyes softened immediately. "Oh God...you poor child..." She opened her arms and - much to the surprise of the two wizards - the little witch ran forward, sobbing as she was gathered in Cassandra's arms.

Without even having to be asked, the girl sobbed out everything that had happened: Riddle's words of love, the way he had taken care of her, the way he kissed her and promised everything would be all right.

She faltered, before continuing to the day that he had betrayed her: he called her a slut who wasn't even worthy of being touched by him, he slapped her and told her she could rot, laughing as she begged him to say it wasn't true.

Her voice shook as she spoke about finding out a poison she could make out of the supplies she had and sneaking to the dungeon to take it, only for Snape to find her and save her life.

By the time she stopped talking, Cassandra was weeping as bitterly as the girl, the child the same age as Cassandra's own son.

"I-I just feel so stupid...so dirt and horrible..."

Cassandra nodded against the girl's tangled hair. "I felt the same way as you do now, Ginny." She said quietly. "He used me, as he used you, and told me that he would spare my family. When I escaped, I got home to find they were dead already..."

"He-he killed your family?" Ginny's face paled. Even the freckles on her cheeks seemed to whiten.

"My parents and my brother." Cassandra confirmed, one hand smoothing the girl's wind-mussed hair. "I thought it was all my fault. That I was so stupid to have believed him. I should have refused to let him touch me."

"Why...why did he want you?" The girl asked hesitantly.

"He wanted an Heir and he wanted me to be the one to bear it for him." Cassandra didn't even hesitate before answering, Snape and Ethan both groaning as she said the words aloud.

Ginny seemed to mull over the words, staring at Cassandra's face. "Did he get an heir?" She asked.

In turn, the older witch studied the red head's face, then she nodded. "He did, but he has never seen him."

"Cass..."

"Shut up, Ethan."

"But..."

"And you, Snape." Her eyes remained locked on the girl's. "I'm trusting you not to tell anyone this, Ginny." She smoothed a curl back from the girl's face. "I know you have suffered a lot, because of that bastard and you had to know why these two idiots thought I would be the right person to talk to you."

The girl nodded. "Is...is he like..."

"You-Know-Who?" Cassandra shook his head. "Not at all. He's about the same age as you and one of his closest friends..." She smiled slightly at the thought of red-haired Willow. "She's a lot like you."

"How..." Ginny swallowed hard, trying to face asking the question. "How did you stop feeling dirty?"

"It took a long time." Cassandra continued to stroke the girl's hair gently. "I tried to wash myself until it went away, but that didn't work." Ginny nodded. She had done the same, she said. "It wasn't until a friend found me and took care of me and showed me that I wasn't dirty and useless, like I thought." Her eyes flicked to Ethan, a small smile reaching her lips. "He's the only one who I could tell everything and he didn't care that I felt too dirty for him to come near me. He ignored me saying I wasn't worthy of being friends with him. He took me in his arms and just let me cry."

"And it stopped hurting?"

"That took a long time, too, but one day, you'll feel worth something again." Her eyes lifted to Snape. "If someone is willing to help you and to support you."

"But I-I can't tell my friends...they'd be afraid of me..."

Cassandra's eyes found the girl's. "That's what I believed, but Ethan showed me I was wrong. It took a while, but I finally started to believe him." She nodded towards Snape. "And if you need to talk someone who knows what it's like to hate yourself, I would suggest he would be a good start."

Snape started. "I-I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't." Cassandra said quietly. "You better take damn good care of her, Severus."

The Potions Master nodded. "If she wants me to."

Ginny looked up at him. "You...you looked after me in there...and when he sent me back...and when I...when I tried to kill myself." She sniffed softly. "You know what happened to me...no one else does..."

"Do I see the beginnings of a dubious friendship?" Ethan forced a smile.

The younger witch stared up at Snape, a strange expression in her eyes. "You...you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not, child." He said softly. "Should you need someone who you wish to talk to, simply let me know and I will give you sufficient detentions to keep you in my class." Ginny almost giggled again. "There, child, that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

"You never cease to surprise me, Sev." Ethan remarked quietly. He glanced at his watch, grimacing. "But now, I think we need to break up this little party. I, for one, have a full time job to uphold."

Cassandra brushed her fingers through Ginny's hair once more. "You'll be all right, little one?" The girl nodded. "Should you want to talk to me again, let Professor Snape know and he'll contact me, through Ethan and I'll see what I can do."

Impulsively throwing her arms around the blonde witch's neck, hot tears spilled down Ginny's cheeks. "Thank you." She whispered.

"You're more than welcome, little one." Returning the genuine embrace, Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut to stem her own tears. "Just remember that you're not what he said you are. You're so much better than that."

Parting, the two witches exchanged strained smiles, then Snape held out a hand to Ginny, who took it without hesitation.

"We'll be in touch." Snape said, before picking up the dirty bottle that had served as a port-key from Hogwarts, leaving Ethan and Cassandra standing side-by-side on the deserted beach.

Shivering slightly, the sun long gone, Cassandra looked up at Ethan. "So, you were saying you had to get to work?" She smiled slightly as he gathered her to him, his arms warm around her body.

"I lied."

She pretended to be shocked. "That was naughty!"

"What can I say?" He murmured before he kissed her. "I'm a rebel."

TBC...

EXPLANATION

All right, before the flaming begins for child abuse, let me please remind you that I am from the United Kingdom (Britain). Harry Potter and Company are also from Britain and the stories are set here. 

The age of consent in this country is sixteen years of age, therefore, Lord Voldemort could legally seduce Ginny as soon as she reached the age of sixteen, which she did in this story. Therefore, going by the laws of MY country, I have done nothing vaguely illegal with these characters. 

The reason I wanted to use Ginny Weasley because she did have the connection with Tom Riddle as is mentioned. She also has a fragility that I thought could be useful later in the story, so I wanted someone very dissimilar to Cassandra, who is a very strong individual as Ethan has noticed. 

The only reason that I had to use her at the age of sixteen (please appreciate that I did not resort to child abuse, because I made certain to have her turn sixteen before anything intimate happened), instead of waiting until she is eighteen is because I already have those chapters planned out and it wouldn't fit with the storyline. 

Hopefully, I haven't offended anyone.

If I have, please remember Voldemort is a nasty, naughty and evil wizard, who likes to destroy innocent lives and the muggle laws are beneath him, so it isn't my fault that he's a randy old pervert.

Honestly.


	8. Chapter 8 : The Failure

One year later - Book Seven in the Harry Potter Series (Title unknown - probably something like "Harry Potter and the never-to-be-finished Series". And no, I'm not at all frustrated by the fact she's changed the deadline for the release date of Order of the Phoenix by over a year...)

As I have warned in the chapters since Voldemort's return, things are getting rapidly grimmer and darker and generally a lot worse, as dear old You-Know-Who gets his powers back in full. 

Don't say I didn't warn you. 

_______________________

Chapter Eight - The Failure

"I'm going out, mom!"

"Wait a minute!" Cassandra hurtled through from the kitchen to the living room, to catch her son trying to make an escape out the front door of the house. "You've been going out every night! Where are you going?"

Alexander shrugged and she could in his eyes that he was trying to decide whether to lie or not. "Bronze, I guess..."

Cassandra folded her arms over her chest. "Is this anything to do with that Buffy girl that's at school with you and Jes..." She froze, hand coming to her mouth. "Oh, Alex, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, mom." Her son tried to pull a brave face on, but she could see through it, a pang of guilt hitting her. 

It was less than two months since the school term had started and almost exactly that time since Jesse, Alexander's best friend since Kindergarten, had...well, police reports said he vanished, but Cassandra instinctively knew that he was dead.

And what made it worse was that she had a feeling that Alexander knew something about what had happened to his friend.

"So you're...you're going out?"

He nodded. "I'm going to go see Buffy and Will at the school. We're doing some extra studying down at the library." The sceptical look on his mother's face made him smile weakly. "Well, Buffy's cute and she needs a study buddy to distract her."

"Now that's more like it." She gave him her best maternal glare. "And I expect you home before your father, do you hear me? That gives until at least midnight, which should be enough for studying."

"Thanks, mom!" He raced off out the door immediately.

Cassandra stood at the bottom of the stairs, near the front door, for a long moment, deliberating about what she should do. Part of her thought she should let the boy get on with it, but part of her wondered what he was really doing.

Unable to resist checking up on him - after all, she reasoned aloud, he has only just turned sixteen - she withdrew her wand and called loudly. "Accio invisibility cloak!"

Less than two minutes after Alexander had left the house, she was trailing him, concealed by the invisibility cloak that Ethan had got hold of for her, as a gift the previous year, just 'in case', he claimed.

Much to her surprise, he did actually go to the deserted High school, although there did seem to be a strange number of lights on, considering it was almost eight o'clock in the evening.

Silencing her footsteps with a quickly muttered spell, she hurried down the corridors after him, stopping short in even greater surprise when he actually wandered straight into the school library.

"Hey, G-Man." He saluted the librarian, before dropping himself into one of the seats beside the table, which was - oddly enough - piled high with books and tomes that looked ancient.

The blonde witch outside the door almost cursed aloud when the librarian emerged from his office, another pile of books cradled lovingly in his arms. "I-I do wish you wouldn't call me that, Xander."

"Rupert Giles..." She breathed, her eyes narrowing.

How could she not have known about his arrival in Sunnydale? One of her lover's oldest former friends, he - too - had attended Hogwarts and had been one of the three Ravenclaws exiled from their world along with Ethan for their apparently harmless experimentation with the Dark Arts.

"Would you prefer it if I called you Mr-Watcher-Sir?" Alexander grinned engagingly up at Giles, but Cassandra barely noticed the grin, her head swimming with this revelation on top of the first.

Watcher?

Rupert Giles was a watcher?

Rupert Giles was a watcher and her son _knew_ about it?

Clearly something had been changed in the whole theory of secret-identity.

"Just Giles is fine, th-thank you."

Cassandra jumped back from the swing door when she heard footsteps approaching down the hall, backing up against the lockers, as two girls came around the corner, talking enthusiastically about something. 

One of them was Willow and the other, she assumed, was the illustrious Buffy.

If Rupert was a Watcher, did that mean this dizzy-looking, little blonde girl was the Vampire Slayer? 

Certainly, it made sense for a Slayer to be on the Hellmouth now. 

Since Voldemort's return, the dark powers seemed to be growing everywhere with his intervention, so it wasn't surprising that someone was sent to keep tags on the most powerful outlets.

But her? The Slayer?

Cautiously approaching the door again, she watched the girl swing up to sit on the desk beside the librarian's pile of books. "We're present and correct." She announced cheerfully. "Staked three fledglings before I got to Will's. Looks like a nest decided to turn a group and they were out for feeding time."

Beneath her invisibility cloak, Cassandra couldn't help feeling a little impressed.

All right, it was true, maybe the girl didn't particularly look the part of a warrior, but if she could identify the vampire feeding and reproducing habits like that, she had to be doing something right.

"You want us to bring back-up and popcorn?" Alexander volunteered eagerly.

"Popcorn?" Three voices asked. 

"So we can watch her kick some more undead ass." He grinned. "It'll be better than the movies!"

Cassandra shook her head, wondering if there was anything her son _didn't_ know about. She had raised him oblivious to the weirdness of the Hellmouth and now, he seemed more than aware of vampires, demons and the undead.

"You would be placing yourself in-in-in grave danger." Giles noted.

"Danger? I laugh in the face of danger!" He paused, then finished. "Then I run and hide until it goes away..." The two girls shook their heads and rolled their eyes in unison. "What?"

"Xander, you don't have to."

The boy looked at the Slayer, who was still sitting on the desk. "I want to." He said with quiet determination. "After what they did to Jesse, I wanna kill every goddamned one of them."

That answered the puzzle of Jesse disappearance, causing Cassandra's hatred of all things dark to increase once again, even though she had thought it impossible for it to grow further.

"Xander..." Willow tried to interrupt.

"Okay, okay, at least try to do something without getting killed myself." Cassandra recognised the puppy eyes charm he was trying on Giles and snickered at the thought of what the Watcher would say, if he knew the infamous Lord Voldemort's son was batting his long lashes at him. "C'mon, G-Man."

"I-I think I'm going to regret this..." Giles mumbled, turning and stalking back into his office, rubbing the lenses of his glasses vigorously.

Shaking her head, Cassandra Harris nee Bones made her way back out of the school and went home, leaving her son to fight - without any of her prompting - against the very arts his biological father was encouraging elsewhere in the world.

Sometimes irony was such an underrated word.

***

In the dank underbelly of Hogwarts, a pair of unlikely friends were working on a potion together, the younger of the pair still uneasy about being in classes with other people of her own age.

It was only the bizarre friendship she had gained from the man who was currently working with her that had prevented her from going completely insane.

No one but him and her youngest elder brother knew about the strange camaraderie they had. 

How Ron had come to un-hate the Potions master in her absence, she would never know, but she had been as surprised as Harry and Hermione when Ron no longer joined in the communal bitching about Snape that frequently took place after the Potions classes, in the Gryffindor common room.

She was also incredibly relieved that he seemed to accept her, when she returned, just as she wanted to be: as Ginny Weasley. Everyone else in her family had tiptoed around her as if she was made of glass, but Ron...he had been the same as ever.

Something suggested that the enigmatic, dark, quiet man who had become her closest friend had something to do with both the way her brother was acting and Ron's sudden change of heart about him. 

"How much of this stuff do I add?"

Snape gave her a long-suffering look, which raised a grin from her. "My dear Miss Weasley," He heaved a sigh. "How many times do I have to tell you that you do not refer to the specific substances as 'stuff'?"

"It's the blue, powdery stuff." She held the bottle out to him.

"Can you not read?"

"Er...is that a trick question?"

"What does it say on the label?" He asked, turning his eyes back to the potion they had simmering in a small cauldron, over a flickering blue flame that he had conjured for the occasion.

Ginny looked at it, then at him. "I can't read your hand-writing." 

With an exaggerated growl of aggravation, Snape whirled around in a fashion that would terrify any of her school mates, but Ginny just smiled as he snatched the bottle from her and scowled at the label.

The scowl faded and he started to chuckle.

"And I suppose," He remarked, trying to smother a smile. "That this is your idea of a highly amusing joke?"

"What?" She stared up at him, as if she had no clue what was going on.

"Professor Snape's naughty secret love potion?" He motioned to the large white label that had been stuck across the front of the bottle, complete with a pudgy cupid in a loincloth and little pink hearts drawn all over it.

"Is that what it says?" She gasped. "I didn't know you made love potions!"

"Miss Weasley, should you tamper with my labels again, I think I may be forced to give you another detention."

"But sir," Trying to look horrified, she gasped. "That would take me right through to the end of this term."

"And my evil scheme will be complete." He actually smiled when she burst into a fit of giggles. It was so rare to hear such a simple sound from the poor girl anymore, her own classmates - as she predicted - wary and frightened of her.

A knock at the door, distracted them from the little playact, Snape swirling around, his robes flaring around him in his usual, ominous fashion. Professor Dumbledore was standing in the doorway, his face pale and tense. "Severus..."

Ginny saw Snape's face go through a series of expressions. "H-headmaster?"

The older wizard's eyes flicked to Ginny, who defiantly moved a little closer to Snape, laying a hand on his arm. "We need to know if you knew of any plans of...of Voldemort's that were meant to come into play soon."

Snape shook his head numbly. "No...I don't think there was anything..." 

"Miss Weasley, would you mind returning to your common room?" Dumbledore's tone was deadly serious, but Ginny could see that something had happened and that Snape looked like he was on the verge of collapse. 

"No. I'm staying with Professor Snape."

"I would much rather you didn't, child." The Potions Master croaked. "I believe the Head Master has something he wishes to discuss with me and I don't want to cause you any discomfort." 

"It...it was him...he's done it again, hasn't he?" The girl looked from one face to the other, a shiver running down her back. She was shaking without realising, her face as white as a sheet.

"Child, listen to me." Gently taking her in his arms, Snape stroked her hair, trying to soothe her. "Return to your dormitory." She started to protest, but he stifled her words with the tip of his finger. "Child, please. Your brother will be there and I have to find out what has happened."

Tears welled rapidly in the girl's eyes and it was clear that she had guessed - and probably very accurately - what might have happened, even if she wasn't sure of the specific details.

"Severus, perhaps you should take Miss Weasley back to her common room." the Headmaster suggested softly, as Ginny seemed to slump in Snape's arms. "Have her brother take care of her there."

Nodding, the Potions Master kept Ginny as they exited the dungeon. He could feel her tears soaking through the fabric of his robes, his arms circling her protectively, leaving her practically invisible thanks to his voluminous sleeves.

Reaching the common room, the Fat Lady spotted the shock of red hair against the darkness of the Potion Master's robes. "One of our little ones?" She inquired. Snape nodded grimly. "I'm afraid I'll still need a password."

"Miss Weasley..." Snape looked down, the only answer he received a quiet sob from the girl. "Ginny, child." She looked up, her dark brown eyes more haunted than they had been in months. Snape flinched at the sight. "We need a password."

"Ch-chocolate delinquent." She whispered. The painting swung open, revealing the round hole that led into the common room, the fat Lady still trying to peer around the frame to see what was happening.

Releasing his hold on her, Snape climbed through the hole first, all faces turning to him as he straightened up and glared around at them. He felt Ginny pressing behind him and emphasised his glare a little more.

Unsurprisingly, the common room rapidly cleared, the younger students gathering up their things and fleeing. The older ones tried to play it cool, but only succeeded in making it more noticeable that they were running away - only a little slower.

Looking around the room, Snape was immediately aware that there was no sign of the Gryffindor trio, as they were known.

"WEASLEY!" The bellow echoed off the walls and high ceiling of the room and the door of one of the prefect's rooms opened sharply, a red-haired head sticking out and looking around for the caller. "Down here, now, if you don't mind."

Looking puzzled, Ron ran down the stairs and into the common room, glancing at the empty chairs in wonder. "Blimey...I'll have to learn that trick. Maybe I'll get a seat if I..." He tailed off at Snape's expression. "What is it?"

The Potions Master stepped to one side, bringing Ginny around him to face her elder brother. Ron uttered a curse, opening his arms and gathering Ginny against his broad chest, hugging her tightly.

"I need you to look after your sister temporarily." His voice was a low growl, but his black eyes met Ron's and Ron understood that something was seriously wrong. "She became a little too overwrought to complete her detention today." 

"Right..." The way the boy intoned the word suggested disdain and loathing, but Snape could hear beyond it and nodded gratefully, climbing out of the hole in the wall and letting the portrait close behind him.

***

"This is the second time you did not know, Severus."

His hands clenched together in his lap, Snape gazed back at the Headmaster. "You can't hold me responsible for this." He whispered. "I had no idea because he chose not to tell me...I cannot know everything that goes on in there."

"I am aware of this, but this kidnapping is more serious than the situation with Miss Weasley." Professor Dumbledore was studying a whirling sneakoscope on his desk, touching the pointed top with the tip of his bony forefinger. "Creevey was snatched from within the grounds."

The Potions Master's face drained of colour. "They wouldn't be so daring..."

"I'm afraid it appears that they would be." Dumbledore said quietly, his blue eyes weary. "You have mentioned that you believe they are preparing for an attack of some kind on the wizarding world?"

"It hasn't been decided upon yet." Snape answered. "Voldemort has often made it known that he wants to strike out at you, so this kidnapping could be part of a plan to reduce your reputation."

"And it appears to be working for the most part."

"But..."

A hand waved him into silence. "No, Severus, it's true. In two years, I have seen two pupils kidnapped by the Dark Lord." He sat back a little. "Many parents are growing sceptical of my ability to protect their young ones."

"No one could do a better job than you have." Snape said truthfully. "Voldemort only targets your reputation because you're the one he could never defeat physically, no matter what he tried. He knows that as long as you are protecting this school, he can not possibly take it under his power."

"Yes..." A tired smile reached the Professor's lips. He looked older than Snape had ever noticed before. "Yes, that's true." He sat up a little. "You know what I am going to ask of you now."

"If I can find out how and why the Creevey boy was taken, I'll bring the information as soon as I can." He started to rise, then paused. "Headmaster, could you perhaps take care of Ginny Weasley for me, in my absence?"

"Of course, Severus. It would be my privilege."

***

Picking up the phone, Cassandra said. "Hello?"

"Hi...is this..." On the other end of the line, the voice shaking. Young, female and sounded frightened. "Is-is this Cassandra?"

Sitting down heavily on the arm of the couch just behind her, a nervous sensation burning in her stomach, the witch swallowed hard. "Who...who is this and how did you get my number?"

"It's Ginny. Your...your friend gave me this...in case...P-Professor Dumbledore said I-I could use a muggle phone...I-I-I need to talk to someone..."

Cassandra's burning gut feeling got worse the moment she heard the frightened girl's name. "Ginny? Child?" She could feel her hands shaking around the receiver already. "What is it? Has something happened?"

"He...he's got someone else...he took them from the school..." Cassandra's eyes widened. A shaky breath was released. "I-I remembered everything...do...do you think he would do the same to them?"

"I don't know, Ginny."

"Professor Snape...he didn't know about it..."

"No..." Cassandra murmured. "He wouldn't. Voldemort knows what he's doing..."

She heard a muffled sniff. "Sorry I phoned...I just didn't have anyone else I could talk to about it..."

"Child, it's all right, really." Glancing out of the window in front of her, Cassandra sighed with relief at the sight of Alexander bounding along the path and towards the front door. "I don't mind."

"But you're meant to be hiding..."

"Hi mom!"

"Hi, sweetie." Accepting a peck on the cheek from Alexander, Cassandra smiled up at him. "Good night?"

"Yeah - we studied a whole lot in the library...or at least Willow and Buffy did." He grinned broadly. "I watched 'em studying...Buffy is so hot when she studies..." He noticed the phone. "Oh! You're taking a call! I'll go upstairs, kay?"

"Thank you, Alex." Chuckling as Alexander raced up the stairs, Cassandra turned her attention back to the girl on the phone. "Sorry about that. Alexander just got home from the library."

There was a moment's silence, then Ginny asked quietly. "Is that his son?"

"That's him." Cassandra nodded, feeling rather stupid when she remembered she didn't have to nod on the phone. 

"He sounds so...normal."

Recalling who her only son spent almost all of his time with, Cassandra smiled slightly. "I wouldn't say he's exactly normal," She admitted. "But I wouldn't change him for all the gold in Gringotts."

"I can't believe he has a son...I mean, You-Know-Who..."

"No, you don't. You mean Tom." Cassandra recognised the sorrowful, bittersweet tone in Ginny's voice. "You really loved him, didn't you?"

"I think so." Ginny sounded so forlorn that Cassandra just wished she could be there for the younger woman to help her. "But then, I remember what he said to me...what he did to me..."

"It'll get easier, child, I promise."

"But when?"

Cassandra sighed. "That's the million dollar question, Ginny. No one knows, but it does get better."

There was a long silence, then Ginny quietly said. "I should go. Thank you."

"Its not a problem, little one."

"Thank you anyway. Could I...maybe phone you again some time?"

"Any time you want to, Ginny." 

"Thank you...bye, Cassandra."

"Bye, Ginny." Placing the receiver back in the cradle, Cassandra stared at the phone for a long time. 

Now, she knew, instead of just having one child to take care of as best she could, she had inherited another from the same source. The only real difference was that this one was broken, lost and in dire need of a mother figure who had been through something as painful as she had.

Shaking her head, Cassandra had to smile. 

It was absurd, really.

Her precious son, Alexander LaVelle Harris, the son and Heir of Lord Voldemort, Darkest of all Dark Wizards, was voluntarily spending all his nights fighting the very thing his father was building up.

In the meantime, the girl who was becoming like a lost daughter to her, was still suffering pangs of love - clashing with the hate she knew she should feel - for the face of the boy that had been before Voldemort.

"All I wanted," Cassandra mused, as she wandered through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. "Was to have a decent, wizard husband, a nice house and a couple of kids to send to Hogwarts...and what did I get?" She switched the kettle on. "A drunken muggle husband, a demon-worshipping lover, the only son of the Darkest Wizard to ever walk the earth and a girl who was in love with the pre-dark-lord Dark Wizard looking to me like an agony aunt..."

Unable to withhold it, she started to laugh.

Yes, she was concerned about everything that was going on, but - by God - it was so bloody funny to look at her life and compare it to what she had written as her plans in her diary when she left school.

"Well," She chuckled, pouring boiling water into the mug on the counter. "I did say I wanted to do something interesting and you don't get much more interesting than my life." Sighing, she settled down on a stool by the counter.

Yes, it was crazy.

Totally and utterly mad.

***

Entering Voldemort's cavernous hiding place, Snape stopped short, bile rising in his throat at the sight.

So Death Eaters had been guilty of snatching little Dennis Creevey.

The muggle-born Gryffindor and his brother were probably two of the smallest boys in the school, Dennis marginally smaller than his elder brother. Despite the fact that he was fourteen, he could still pass for a first year.

That fact only made what Snape was seeing all the worse.

The boy looked like he had been severely beaten by the Death Eaters who were now lazing around the chamber, looking smug and pleased with themselves. He was curled in a pool of his own blood, on the floor, his face bruised and swollen.

From what Snape could tell, the boy was unconscious, which was probably a small blessing considering the mess he was in. The Potions Master was sure he could see a few wounds that could only be inflicted by a blade on the boy's thin form.

Urine had been sprayed over him, something that Avery and Nott took great pleasure in. What looked like dirt - but could be a less pleasant substance - was smeared in his hair and on his face, as well as some less-savoury looking fluids.

"Ah, Severus!" Lucius Malfoy's voice rang out. "I see you've spotted our Mudblood entertainment for this week."

Stepping down into the main hall, Snape was glad to be wearing the mask as Malfoy strode towards him. Assuming his Death Eater stance, he studied the boy. "How did you manage to grab this one without Dumbledore noticing?"

"We have my son to thank for that." The pride in Malfoy's voice was nauseating. "I didn't realise he had it in him, but he made one of the Mudblood's books into a Port Key and sent him here to us."

"Well, well...your son is certainly living up to expectations."

Malfoy nodded, practically vibrating with pride that his son had managed to do something Death-Eatery of his own volition. "Our Master is allowing us to keep him for entertainment for a short time."

"And then, death?"

"Severus," The mocking tone in Malfoy's voice made Snape want to punch him and hard. "You have such limited vision. Who better to take our Master's warning to Dumbledore and his filthy mudbloods than one of their own, barely alive." 

"One of your ideas, no doubt..." 

"Of course!" 

The Potions Master was hard-pressed to quash a snicker. Snape knew for a fact that Lucius Malfoy seldom had an original idea in his pretty head, usually relying on his frighteningly imaginative wife to come up with plans for the Death Eaters.

"I suppose I'll leave you to your games, unless I am vitally needed."

"Always squeamish, eh, Severus?" A jovial arm was flung about his shoulder. Snape glared at it until Malfoy wisely lifted it away. "Well, I suppose it does give us more entertainment, with one less to share it with."

"Indeed." Turning, Snape started back towards the wall that served as a door.

Stepping through the black wall, he ripped his mask off and vomited violently on the ground, grateful that the hidden entrance was through the outer back wall of the Malfoy's country home.

As he did after every time that he was in the presence of the other Death Eaters, Snape wished that he had never joined them, wished that he had never been damn-fool enough to let Voldemort's silky words penetrate his ear.

Unfortunately for him, though, the mark burned into his arm reminded him that it was too late for regrets.

All he could do now was try and salvage some grace from his fallen position and save the few before many were destroyed.

***

Two weeks passed quickly enough, the Creevey family going out of their minds with fear for their younger son's well-being. 

Despite Professor Dumbledore's reassurances that he would be found, his parents didn't seem convinced, on the verge of removing their older son, Colin, from Hogwarts despite his protest that he only had months more before he finished school.

So, when the boy did reappear, quite a few people were surprised.

Hagrid found him.

Bloody and barely able to keep himself upright, the boy stumbled into the grounds, when the huge Groundskeeper was on patrol on the outskirts of Hogwarts. He tottered towards Hagrid, grabbing at the part-Giant's moleskin coat.

His face was smeared with dirt and dried blood, his eyes darting in every direction as if expected someone to run out and grab him at any moment. A few cuts and bruises marked his cheeks and his black robes were torn and filthy.

"I have to see Professor Dumbledore." He gasped hoarsely, before keeling over.

Hagrid, without ministry permission to do magic, was forced to resort to manual labour, hoisting the boy's form up in his arms as gently as he could, little Dennis's eyes staring up at him desperately.

"Please...I need to see the Head master..." He whispered.

"Righ', Creevey..." Hagrid nodded as he started the trek towards the school, trying not to jolt the boy too much. "Firs' we'll get ye to Madam Pomfrey, then ye can see Professor Dumbledore."

"No!" The shrill vehemence in the boy's voice startled the care of Magical Creatures Teacher. "I-I have to see him...have a message...told to give it to him...please...have to see him..." The speech seemed to exhaust the boy and he sank back in Hagrid's arms, panting and breathless.

"All righ', all righ'." Studying the boy's thin features, Hagrid frowned. "If yer sure."

His eyes closed lightly as he tried to get his breath, Dennis smiled weakly up at the teacher. "Thanks... Hagrid..."

Fortunately for both of them, most of the students were in their classes, so no one saw the enormous figure striding through the halls, a smaller one cradled in his arms like a baby.

Reaching the Gargoyle, Hagrid growled the password, ascending the long, winding staircase towards Dumbledore's office at the top of the tower, the door opening before they even reached it.

"Hagrid?"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir." Bending a little to step through the doorframe into the room, Hagrid straightened up. Dumbledore immediately spotted Creevey, his body seeming to relax a little. "Found this little fella near the outside of the grounds. He wanted ter talk ter ye."

"Of course..." Motioning for Hagrid to place the boy in the large, comfortable chair in front of the desk, the Head Master came around his desk, carefully avoiding the pile of ash on the floor, which concealed the featherless and squeaking Fawkes. "Mr. Creevey?" The boy nodded, shivering. The Professor quickly draped a spare robe around his thin shoulders. "Perhaps you would care for a piece of chocolate?"

"Th-thank you, Sir." He whispered hoarsely, accepting a piece.

"Hagrid, would you so kind as to go and fetch Severus, Poppy and Minerva for me?"

"Of course, Sir." With a half-salute, Hagrid made his way back out onto the winding stairway, to follow Dumbledore's instructions.

***

"Are you all right, Ginny?"

The red-haired witch looked up from her homework at Hermione. 

Since her 'ordeal' as many of her teachers were prone to call it, she had been having private classes on a regular basis, which meant she was in the common room on her own while the rest of her year group were in class.

"I'm okay." She tried to smile, but had the distinct feeling that Hermione could see right through it. "I-I...I'm just working on Arithmancy..." She pointed down at the scroll in front of her.

"Oh! That's my favourite subject." Like Ron, Hermione was one of the few people who still treated her like a normal human being, as opposed to some kind of fragile object to be treated with care. "Can I see what you're working on?"

Nodding, Ginny managed a genuine smile as the frighteningly smart Head Girl sat down beside her at the small, round table and she started pointing out where she was having trouble.

"I can see why you'd have problems here." Hemione agreed, grabbing an ink-free quill and pointing out some of the equations. "You see here, you've taken too much from this side..." Her words trailed off, as she glanced at the window. "What the...?"

Ginny looked up from her scrolls, confused, as Hermione scrambled to her feet and ran to the window of the common room. "What is it?"

The Head Girl turned sharply. "You stay here, Ginny." She ordered sharply, her face pale, her voice clipped. "I need to go and see Professor Dumbledore."

"But what is...?"

"Stay here!" Hermione called back, as she scrambled out of the portrait hole. 

***

"Ah, Professor Snape!" Halfway down the corridor, on the way to the dungeons, Snape turned at Hagrid's voice mentally sighing. 

The last time Hagrid had talked to him, he had ended up with a broken tooth after politely trying one of the Giant's rock cakes. It seemed that no one had ever told Hagrid that you didn't actually use rocks.

"Professor Dumbledore told me to find ye, Professor."

"Oh?" Leaning back slightly to look at the taller man, Snape raised a brow. "And did he say what it was about?"

Glancing around to make sure none of the passing children were listening, Hagrid leaned a little closer, speaking in a low growl. "It's about Dennis Creevey." He said softly. "He's with Dumbledore righ' now."

"He's back?" Snape was torn between relief and shock.

"Yep. Found him meself by the Dark forest..." He nodded down the corridor. "An' now, I have ter go and get Professor McGonogall and Madam Pomfrey, so if ye'll excuse me, Professor."

Snape nodded, hurrying in the opposite direction, wondering what condition the boy was in.

After all, the last time he had attended one of the Death Eater conventions, shortly after Creevey had been abducted, the boy was unconscious, bloody, weak and - all in all - looked more dead than alive.

Nearing the gargoyle that concealed the entrance to Dumbledore's office, Snape leapt back in surprise as the Gargoyle sprang open of it's own accord, revealing the staircase and...

The Potions Master surprise increased tenfold.

Dennis Creevey flashed a wicked grin up at him, brown eyes flashing with crimson glee, then darted away. 

"Oh shit!"

Racing up the winding staircase, his breath catching in his throat as he reached the top, he didn't wait to be invited through the open door of Dumbledore's office, running in and stopping short.

Dumbledore didn't look up. 

His serene blue eyes were fixed on the large chair in front of him, his long fingers steepled in front of his chest. The expression on his face was one of deep sorrow and weary resignation.

"Headmaster?"

Still, Dumbledore didn't look up.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

Weak, vehement squeals from Fawkes, the Phoenix, were the only things that could be heard in the room.

His voice and hands shaking, Snape rounded the desk, kneeling down beside the Head master's seat. His fingers pushed aside Dumbledore's beard and he sought out the aged Professor's pulse.

Nothing.

"No..." Checking again, his breathing growing shallow, he shook his head. "No!"

Sitting back on his heels, his shaking hand slipping down to rest on Dumbledore's still arm, the other resting in his lap, Snape hung his head, tears stinging in his eyes, tears of frustration, shock and grief.

"What is it, Albus?" Professor McGonogall's voice sounded from the door and Snape lifted his head bleakly. The deputy Head Mistress looked at him in confusion, then seemed to identify the emotion in his eyes. "Oh God...Albus?" She ran to the other side of the desk, shaking the Head Master. "Albus? Albus, answer me!"

"He's gone, Minerva." Snape whispered tightly, staring up at her. Tears were rolling silently down the Potions Master's face. "He's gone..."

"No! NO!" Gripping Dumbledore's left hand, she shook her head. "No! He can't be!" Like Snape, tears formed in her eyes and were spilling rudely down her face. "He can't be...he can't...Albus...please..." Pressing her cheek against his still hand, she started to sob in earnest. "Albus, please...don't leave us..."

Swallowing hard passed the lump of granite that felt like it had formed in his throat, Snape rose up on his knees and lifted a hand to reverently remove Dumbledore's spectacles, folding them and placing them on the desk.

Footsteps clattered on the stairway outside the room, a third figure running into the room. "Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione Granger, panting and breathless, stood in the doorway. "I saw the Dark Mark over..." 

She trailed off as Snape lifted his hand again and gently closed Dumbledore's glassy blue eyes, the twinkle that had always been there snuffed out forever. McGonogall's sobs were growing harsher by the minute.

When Hermione spoke again, it was in a very small voice. "Professor Dumbledore?"

Slowly standing up, Snape approached the girl, who was staring at the Head Master with the same incredulity that he felt. Everyone knew - or at least had believed - that Dumbledore was indestructible.

"Miss Granger." He said softly. "Perhaps we should inform the teaching staff?"

Brown eyes tore away from Dumbledore and the sobbing McGonogall. "He..." She shook her head. "He can't be..." She whispered, disbelief written on every line of her face. "He...he can't..."

Laying a hand on the girl's shoulder, he nodded sadly. "I'm afraid that he can be, and is, Miss Granger."

"H-how?"

Snape pressed his eyes closed for a long moment. "You-Know-Who." He said unsteadily, knowing that the devilish grin on the face of Dennis Creevey on the stairs no more belonged to the boy than the killing curse he had used.

"No..." As Minerva had, the Head Girl seemed to crumple under the news. Her legs dropped out beneath her and she sat on the floor, shaking her head, repeating like a mantra. "No...no...no..." 

When the sob finally came, she buried her face in her hands and didn't fight when black-robed arms circled her, rocking her and a soft, silky voice - rough with tears as well - whispered soothingly to her.

Amid a pile of ashes on the floor, as the three wept for the death of Albus Dumbledore, a newly reborn Phoenix let out a single quavering wail that resonated in the air and vibrated through the very walls of Hogwarts.

That was the very moment that everyone in the school knew, somehow, what had happened.

For the first time in Hogwarts' History, there was absolute silence.

______________________

Yes, I'm evil :-)


	9. Chapter 9 : The Grief

Set - a short time after chapter eight (Around October 1998)

Chapter Nine - The Grief

Notes: This chapter was written, test-read, then utterly re-written because it truly did suck in a storyline sense and then, it was lovingly hacked up because it was just so bloody large - first draft was around 28 pages, re-write 27 and counting without even being close to finishing. Can we say ouch? And people wonder why I have no social life, when I get something like this in my head. 

Anyway, it had to be split into three separate chapters, with a couple of extras added to make the series a nice round 20 chapters in total (I like having round numbers, even if it gives me more work) so this is the first of the three and things are rapidly getting more and more uncomfortable in the wizarding World.

Also, while I remember - this story is basic - you want good, read that of Echo. I bow in awe to that wonderful epic! Plus, yummy Cranky Pants features, so no complaints from me. Also, thanks to Kat and Kristian for tolerating my inane babbling when I truly thought this chapter would never EVER be finished.

AND - since I keep forgetting to do this- DISCLAIMER! None of this story is mine. Not a thing. Not even Cassandra, who I got from a plot bunny someone gave me. I just play with them all. Wish it was. Would be nice to be a millionaire...

_________________________

Preparing dinner for her family, Molly Weasley hummed to herself. Potatoes were boiling merrily in the pan on the stove, the savoury smells of roasting meat wafting out of the oven.

The fire was crackling in the hearth and she glanced at the clock that stood in the living room, but was visible from the empty kitchen. Arthur, Bill Charlie and Percy were all at work, while Fred and George were in the position classed as 'Leisure'.

The two youngest were still at school, no doubt.

She returned to her cooking, adding some more salt to the potatoes with her wand and conjuring up a simmering pan of thick gravy.

A ding from the clock suggested that someone was on their way home.

She looked around to see who it was, only to find Arthur and Percy both standing in the doorway of the living room. Percy looked shaken and pale and Arthur's face was as white as a sheet.

Crossing the kitchen floor, he grabbed his wife in a tight embrace, startling her.

"Arthur, what...?" She managed to croak.

She felt a shaking breath get exhaled next to her ear. "Dumbledore, Molly..." He whispered, his voice hoarse. She pulled back, staring up at him, her wand slipping from her hand as she met his eyes. "You-Know-Who...he got to the school..."

"No..." Arthur's hands were resting on her shoulders and she noticed absently that they were shaking. And that tears were spilling down her face. Her eyes flicked to Percy, who was hugging himself and looked on the verge of tears.

"Word..." Arthur drew a steadying breath, still gripping her shoulders. "Word just came in from Minerva...from the school..." He took several more breaths, swallowing hard. "They...he was in his office...You-Know-Who had used polyjuice...got into the school...to the office..."

"That's not right." Molly whispered, staring up at him, shaking her head slowly. "It isn't right, Arthur...it can't be right...there must be a mistake...he...he might have just been sleeping...mightn't he?" The desperate hope in his wife's voice caused tears to well up in his eyes again and he pulled her to him, hugging her tightly. She continued to whisper despairingly. "Not right...not right at all..."

"M-mum?" Percy's shaking voice made them break apart and she found her third son standing at her elbow, his eyes looking huge in his pale face. He sounded like he did, when he had woken from a nightmare as a child. Only this nightmare wasn't one that was about to end. "Dumbledore...he's really g-gone, isn't he, mummy?" 

Unable to word her response, she gathered one of her full-grown boys in her arms, pressing her eyes shut the stem her fresh tears as he seemed to go limp, sobbing bitterly on her shaking shoulder.

Another ding from the living room was echoed by Bill's voice.

"The filthy bastard can't get away with this. Not doing that to old Dumbledore." He shouted savagely, storming through into the kitchen, where his parents and brother were. Slamming the new edition of the Daily Prophet on the table, he sent a furious look at his father. "They say the Ministry isn't going after him, dad. Is it true?"

Arthur nodded wordlessly.

"Those god-damned political arsewipes!" His eldest son snarled angrily. "Dumble was the one who held this World together and they aren't even going to try and stop the one who did it! This is why he became so bloody powerful last time! No one did a single bloody thing to stop him when they had the chance!"

"Bill, it isn't that simple." Arthur tried to say, but his eldest was having none of it.

"You know what?" Pointing a finger from his father to his mother, Bill continued doggedly. "I bet Fudge is working for You-Know-Who! I bet he's the one who said that no vengeance was to be taken, because it would hurt his master!"

"William Weasley!" His father's voice rose angrily. "How dare you say such a thing about the Minister of Magic!"

"Don't you William me, dad! You know what Fudge is like!"

Arthur Weasley stepped up to his son, standing on level height with him. "I know that he has made some serious errors in judgement in the past, William, but would you have him send a troop of Aurors off on a suicide vengeance mission?" 

"If it stops You-Know-Who, yes!" Bill's face was scarlet with rage. "After what he did to Ginny, how can you even think about letting them sit on their hands and do sod all, dad? I thought you..."

"Stop it!" The cry came from Percy, jerking out of Molly's arms. His usually-perfect hair was mussed, his glasses askew, but he stared at his brother despairingly. "Just stop it! This isn't going to help!"

"What would you know, Perce?" Bill demanded fiercely, rounding on his younger brother. "You work behind a desk, doing exactly what you're told, kissing all those fancily-robed arses and hoping you'll get promoted!"

"William!" To her husband's surprise, Molly slapped her son across the face. Bill was stunned, too, raising a hand to his cheek. "Don't you ever speak to your brother like that again, do you hear me?" Her finger was pointed at him warningly. "This is just what You-Know-Who wanted to happen, don't you see?"

"But, mum..."

"No buts, William." Her tone softened a little "We're all a little on edge now..." She gathered him in her arms and hugged him tightly. Bill nodded against her shoulder, swallowing hard. Pushing him back a little, she framed his strained face with her small hands. "We are going to get through this, you know. We always do."

"Molly," Arthur's voice shook and she followed his line of sight. He was staring into the living room. "What about Ginny?" He asked, pointing to the clock that stood on the far side of the room.

More importantly, he was pointing at the hand that read 'Virginia', which was moving rapidly around the face from 'School' to 'Mortal peril' ...

***

Running down the darkened corridors, tears streaming down her face, Ginny covered her ears with her shaking hands, trying to block out the words that her own classmates had said to her.

Stumbling through the dimly-lit passages that led to the dungeons, the air getting colder by the second, she briefly ducked into Professor Snape's empty chambers, the continued onwards, pulling her robes tightly around her as she almost tripped on a long flight of stairs.

Did they all think she was the one who had helped You-Know-Who in?

She couldn't think of him as Tom anymore, not after what had happened.

She had been one of the first to find out, when Harry - almost carrying the sobbing Hermione - had climbed through the portrait hole and into the room, his own eyes swimming with tears.

Then, her classmates had returned.

Grief had rapidly turned into bitterness and malicious anger.

Fingers were quick to be pointed at the frightened girl who had been You-Know-Who's prisoner for almost four months the year before and yet, she had managed to come back physically unscathed from her experience.

How, they had asked, had she come back without so much as a mark on her?

She hadn't explained, couldn't find the nerve to admit it, couldn't find the voice to say it, backing away as they crowded in on her, her brother and Hermione nowhere to be seen to aid her.

Accusations had flown thick and fast and she had run to the portrait hole, flinging herself out and running as fast her feet could carry her, determined to get away. Away from the memories of Tom, of what he had done to her, from the faces, the voices...

Voldemort's Whore...

That's what they had called her...

Her foot caught on a loose stone and she yelped as the floor gave way into a flight of stairs, which she tumbled down, crying out in pain as she crashed in a heap on the stone floor at the base.

Scrambling to her feet, her right ankle almost going out from beneath her with a lancing pain, she tottered onwards, determined to get as far as she could from the main part of the school. 

No one would stop her this time.

She would be finished with it.

This was the one way that she could guarantee to wipe away all of their vicious taunts, their cruel, angry words, the memories of her ordeal at Lord Voldemort's hands, the dreams...

No more dreams of Tom seducing her, then making her do terrible things to her fellow pupils. 

No more waking from nightmares in which she had a knife - sharp and deadly - slicing into the bodies of her family as Tom applauded and told her she was showing her love for him.

No more waking, screaming, convinced that her face had assumed the snake-like features of Voldemort, believing that blood from her murders staining her arms up to the elbows, convinced she revelled in sharing Voldemort's bed.

No more anything.

Panting, she came to a halt in a pillared hallway, cylindrical black columns of stone polished to a sheen, flaming torches flaring to life as she neared, hung in brackets on every second pillar. 

The flickering flames in the torches reflected in the grim black stone made her shudder, memories washing over her of her imprisonment. The stone floor was also black, reminding her horribly of...there.

Limping between the pillars, she looked around warily.

As far as she could see, there was no one present.

Sinking down against the far wall at the end of the dark room, she reached into her cloak and withdrew a small bottle, studying it.

Ever since she had been befriended by Professor Snape, his supplies cupboard had always been left unattended when she was present. She was one of the people that he trusted not to steal his ingredients.

How wrong he was.

Removing the cork from the tiny glass vial, her nose wrinkled at the sour aroma that rose from the thick, dark green substance in the bottle. It had the texture of congealed oil and she knew it would probably taste as bad as it smelt.

Raising the bottle to her lips, she was about to swallow the fluid, when a calm, quiet voice spoke from above her.

"Are you sure that is wise, Miss Weasley?" The voice sounded so understanding, so sad and so genuinely concerned, Ginny reluctantly looked up. "Poison does tend to be awfully deadly, you know." 

***

"Ginny! Oh, goodness, Ginny!" A plump, white-faced witch hurtled across the medical wing towards the bed that her only daughter lay in, tucked under white sheets and thick red blankets. Grabbing the sixteen-year-old in a fierce embrace, Molly felt her daughter's convulsive shudder and held her tightly. It lasted but a moment, then Ginny was held back at arm's length and given a shake. "What did you think you were doing?"

"I'm sorry, mum..." Brown eyes sought out Molly's, both pairs as red-rimmed as one another's. "I...everyone was saying such horrible things...about me...that it was me... and I was scared...and..." She turned her face away from her mother, her nose and eyes screwing up, silent tears leaking down her cheeks.

Wrapping her arms around her daughter again, Molly quashed all need for any other words, smiling tearfully as Ginny returned the hug.

Her little girl looked like a shadow of herself, her elfin face white and ghost-like, her brown eyes haunted as they had been the previous year. Blotches of colour on her cheeks showed that she had been crying a great deal.

That was what made Molly hurt the most: seeing one of her many precious children in such a state.

She had come to Hogwarts with Arthur, as soon as they had looked at the clock, and were clearly not the only parents, many arriving, taking their children and departing as quickly as possible.

By the time they arrived at the panic-stricken school, Ginny had already vanished from the common room, her classmates uncaring of where she was, so teachers were sent on a frantic search for her.

She was discovered in one of the lower dungeons by Hagrid, who had been ordered there by Snape, who had been on his way out of the school grounds and stopped to tell the gate-keeper what to do, before vanishing. 

The flame-haired girl had been slumped against the carved black stone of the wall in a dead faint, a small bottle gripped in her hands, the contents of which seemed to be eating a hole in the stone floor.

Tenderly scooping the frail girl up, Hagrid had taken her straight to the hospital wing where her anxious parents waited, Molly sitting and sobbing, Arthur pacing back and forth in weary frustration.

McGonagall had been forced to stun Arthur, when Madam Pomfrey refused to let them into the wing, the red-haired wizard trying to charge the doors, determined to see his little girl. 

Pomfrey had been adamant, though.

Ginny's parents were told they would only be allowed in almost an hour after the girl had been brought, shortly after she had finally regained consciousness. One person briefly pausing at her drapes before being taken off for treatment while her mother was permitted to enter.

At the edge of the medical wing, almost concealed from view and unnoticed by either of the Weasleys, that same figure sat silently, as horrific cuts on his arms were healed up by Madam Pomfrey's potions.

The Hogwarts' matron knew a little of what his employment entailed and if she had not, the Dark mark burned in his arm should have given her sufficient notice. As always, she had the responsibility of getting his body all back in one piece.

Mind was another matter.

Snape had been called to his 'Master' shortly after the body had been discovered and a new and...entertaining form of torment was awaiting him.

As soon as he arrived in Voldemort's domain, he was handed a knife and told to join in with the ritual execution of several ministry wizards who had proved too strong for the _Imperio_ curse.

His bared arms unfortunately coming a little too close to the other Death Eaters enthusiastic blades, while his had barely skimmed the flesh of their unfortunate victims, until said victims were already dead.

He would never be responsible for being the cause of death. Mutilating the body he could almost bear, but murdering the unfortunates in such a bloody, savage way, it was against his very nature.

Around a dozen of the higher Ministry officials had been snatched exactly at the moment that uproar had broken out, when the news of Professor Dumbledore's death had reached them.

With various ministry workers vanishing to check that their loved ones were all right, no one noticed that a large number just disappeared as soon as a trusted fellow witch or wizard passed them by.

Port Keys and a new bi-apparation spell that Voldemort had developed were used to snatch the unfortunates, no one even aware of what was going on. It was done with such swiftness and secrecy that Snape doubt anyone would be aware of it.

Apparently, the rest of the ministry people who had been snatched - the ones who survived the butchering - had been sent back to their work places, bound solidly under the controlling curse, their leashes now held by Lord Voldemort.

Snape felt sick. 

It had been so easy for the Dark Lord.

In less than half an hour, Voldemort's greatest enemy had been wiped out by his own disguised hand and some of the top wizards in the Ministry were securely under his control.

Who, he wondered bitterly, would he report to now?

One of his allies was dead, another under the Dark Lord's spell and the third...well, as she would no doubt find out, it was going to take a lot more to convince anyone in the Ministry of anything anymore.

Sighing, as Madam Pomfrey finished bandaging his hands, he leaned back against the wall behind him, his half-closed eyes drifting to the youngest Weasley, who was now - no doubt - receiving a lecture from her mother.

He remained where he was, watching the display of maternal concern and affection with absent fascination, wondering if he would have become the way he was, had his mother been more like Molly Weasley.

Eventually, Professor McGonagall slipped into the room and approached Mrs Weasley, apparently asking her to join her. Pressing a kiss to Ginny's forehead, the plump witch hurried after Professor McGonogall.

Checking that Madam Pomfrey wasn't about to run in and demand him lie down and rest, Snape glided across the floor, sitting down on the edge of Ginny Weasley's bed, the girl's eyes opening the moment he sat.

"P-Professor Snape."

"Severus, child." He said quietly. "You know that."

She nodded, looking away from him. "I-I'm sorry..."

"For what, child?" She shook her head, her hair tousled around her face, unable to reply, a tiny whimpering sound coming from her throat, as if she were about to burst into tears, but didn't want to. "Oh, child." Opening his arms, he let her burrow into his chest. "It wasn't your fault."

"Th-they all said it was."

"They don't know what they are talking about, child." His hand smoothed her hair and he sighed. "They spoke in fear and anger. They have no one to strike out at, so they chose you, unfortunate child."

"It...its bad...its all bad..."

Placing a gentle kiss on top of her bowed head, Shape laid his cheek against her flaming hair. "I wish I could say something to reassure you, child." He said quietly, his voice sad. "I wish I could help you."

"I-I was really going to do it." She whispered shakily. Snape could feel her small fingers gripping against his back and soothingly rocked her. "I-I would have...if he hadn't told me not to..."

"He, child?" The Potions Master didn't look around as Madam Pomfrey approached them, a goblet of a powerful sleeping draught held in her hands. He took it easily from the matron, waving Madam Pomfrey away. "Who is he?"

"He told me I shouldn't..." Ginny's quiet sobs were trailing off. "He said so." She didn't fight as Snape negotiated her back against the pillows and helping her drink the potion, her small hands enclosing the one of his that held the goblet.

"He was right, child." His other hand rising to cradle Ginny's cheek, her red hair spilling like silken threads over and between his fingers, he placed the goblet on the table behind him. "Can you tell me who he was?"

The potion took effect quickly, but Ginny still gazed at him tearfully, one hand coming up to grip his hand on her cheek, her speech slurring. "He said it poison was deadly... said it wasn't wise...I-I didn't want to upset him..."

"Who, child?"

Bleary brown eyes stared at him, drifting out of focus. A single word slipped past her lips before she sank back on the bed, asleep. A word that made Snape's eyes widen and a soft curse escape him.

"Dumble...dore..."

***

Alexander was sitting on the sofa in front of the television, glaring at a bowl of cereal when his mother entered the room, carrying a basket of fresh laundry, placing it on the arm of the sofa next to him.

"Good morning to you too."

"Oh...hey, mom." He didn't look up, glaring more emphatically down into his bowl of some kind of soggy cereal.

"I know its almost vacation time, but you don't have to start acting like a caveman just yet." She waited for a response, but he seemed fixated on the bowl in front of him. "So what happened that put you in such a good mood?"

"Huh?"

One hand on her hip, the other supporting the laundry basket, Cassandra studied him. "I would prefer it if you looked at me when I'm talking to you, Alexander LaVelle Harris."

Reluctantly, Alexander looked up at her, revealing a black eye. "It's not as bad as it looks." He hastened to say.

"What happened, Alex?" Uncaring of the laundry and whether it remained upright or not, she lifted his chin and studied the bruise, a gleam of anger shining in her dark brown eyes.

"Friends of Buffy's boyfriend." He muttered darkly.

"And you were fighting for her honour?" Alexander didn't answer, turning back to his bowl of cereal. Sighing, Cassandra mussed his hair. "What am I going to do with you?" She asked, making her way towards the front door, someone knocking.

Alexander made no reply, so she turned her attention to their guest.

Opening the door, a plump woman stood there, holding a large folder. "Are you interested in becoming a Jehovah's Witness?" Cassandra shook her head politely, starting to shut the door. "Or how about subscribing to the Daily Prophet?"

"What?"

"Old Bones and what have you..."

Luckily, Cassandra managed to restrain herself from grabbing her lover-in-disguise and kissing him, as her son glanced over the back of the couch. "Who is it, mom?"

"No one in particular, son." Motioning Ethan into the house, she inwardly smiled as Alexander gave the form of an old woman a cursory glance, then announced that he was going to check that Buffy was all right.

The moment he was gone, Cassandra was hugging Ethan-in-old-lady form. She was still gripping him like that when he returned to his tall, lanky form, holding her as tightly as he could.

"I thought you were dead or something..." She began, but trailed off at the look on her lover's face. "Ethan?"

"You haven't heard?"

"H-heard what?"

Reaching into his somewhat baggy jacket, he withdrew a folded edition of the Daily Prophet, which was apparently several days old at least. Opening it out, he handed it to her, looking away.

Cassandra stared at the picture and headline in horror.

A somber-looking Hogwarts, overshadowed by a Dark Mark in the sky.

"Dumbledore Death - You-Know-Who to blame?"

"You...you can't be serious..." Cassandra stared at him desperately. Somehow, she had ended up kneeling on the floor. She couldn't work out how and, presently, didn't really care. "Dumbledore...dead?"

Nodding, Ethan looked around at her. "That's why I'm here." He said grimly. "If he has power enough to do that, in Hogwarts, in the Professor's own office of all places, I wanted to be sure that you would be safe." He knelt and held her in his arms. "I want to keep my eye on you and the kid, no matter what." 

"How...how could he do it, Ethan?"

"Polyjuice." Cassandra shuddered against his chest. "Don't worry, Cassie. Even if he used it to walk around here, he would never see you or the boy, even if he was staring you in the face."

"But you don't know what it's been like here lately, Ethan." She whispered. "Bad things have been happening here...I heard something about the Harvest last summer... I looked it up and it was meant to be the opening of the Hellmouth...and now, demons are popping up all over the place..."

Looking around, Ethan tried to force a smile "If this is Hell, I've seen worse."

"The Slayer fights it all."

Pulling a face that suggested he thought she was being snobby, he put on a posh accent. "Oh look at us, darling, aren't we absolutely spiffy? We've got a Slayer, don't you know? All the rage in Paris..."

"Ethan, shut up. I'm serious."

"You actually have a Slayer in this town?"

Cassandra nodded. "And it gets better." She said quietly. "She's one of Alexander's best friends." Ethan cursed under his breath. "And her Watcher is a chap you used to call Ripper."

"Rupert?" He gaped at her. "A Watcher? A stiff-upper-lip nancying ponce with too many books and no sex life? You're pulling my leg! He never could have finished the training and everything else!"

"I saw him with the Slayer," She confirmed, smiling slightly at his reaction which was so much more dramatic than she had expected. "And he's got everything a proper English gentleman should have, including the stutter."

Holding her at arm's length, he shook his head. "To think my old summoning mate is one of things we used to annoy. We used to come up with ways to spring new demons on the council, he and I, and now he's one of them. We really have buggered up lives, you and I."

"I was thinking exactly the same thing when Ginny Weasley decided I was going to be her dial-a-minute agony aunt."

Making a phone shape with his right hand, Ethan chuckled. "Hello and welcome to the Nutters R Us talk show. Today's topic is Dark Lords and how to stop them simply shagging and making it work as a meaningful relationship."

"Ethan," Punching his arm, Cassandra smiled faintly. "That's not nice."

"Accurate, though."

"Well, yes, but still." Snuggling against him, she sighed. "What are we going to do, Ethan?" Her voice was shaking slightly. "I want to help them fight against him, but if I even thought about showing face, they'd either kill me or throw me in Azkhaban."

"I know how difficult this must be for you, Skeleton." She raised her eyebrows. "All right, maybe I don't, but you running around on a vendetta against Snake-Man won't help you or your boy."

"I feel so useless, Ethan. I can't do anything."

"Apart from fight his forces from this side."

"You what?"

Ethan nodded. "You heard. Haven't you noticed that there's been a lot of dark activity lately, even for a Hellmouth? You didn't think that it was coincidence, with Voldemort rising in power?" Cassandra stared at him. "Blimey, Cassie, don't you remember anything they taught you at Hogwarts?" 

"I...I dunno..."

Sighing, he sat back a little from her. "All right," He said. "Its simple. If there's an increase in use of the dark arts by wizards, then the dark forces will be drawn to it and vice versa. Their darkness feeds his strength while they feed on his aura of power, not specifically on the power itself." Cassandra nodded that she was following. "As he grows stronger, more of them are going to join him, as long as he has power and as long as they go to him, he gets more powerful."

"I think I understood that." She hesitantly admitted. "You take away one and the other goes away too?"

"Something along those lines." He nodded. "You say that the Hellmouth's opening was prevented?"

Cassandra nodded. "Just this summer."

"That explains why your old man went quiet as soon as the school term finished last year." Ethan murmured thoughtfully. "There was meant to be a surge in darkness but when it was stopped, I'm guessing it was the same idea as a car running out of petrol, when it's used up more than it realised."

"So Voldemort uses vampires like a duracell bunny uses a battery?"

"Only he doesn't roam the world, banging an evil drum...although he may well start that when he gets enough power." The wizard scratched his chin, the stubble rasping against his fingertips. "Closing the Hellmouth meant that the power he expected was reduced. I think bumping off things that go bump in the night would probably affect him at least a little in the power circuit."

"So you're saying I should fight demons and stuff?"

"Nothing that drastic, but..."

"If my son can do it, I bloody well can!"

"Your...son?"

Smiling genuinely this time, Cassandra nodded proudly. "My little boy is helping the Slayer when she needs him. He has been for the last school year and a half, since she got here, as far as I can see."

Ethan snorted with laughter and it rapidly became a full belly laugh. "Bloody Hell..."

"What?"

"I..." Choking back his laughter, chuckles escaping him, he shook his head. "I would pay good money to see Voldemort's face if you told him that his only son and Heir has been killing the things that feed his power."

Chuckling, Cassandra held up a hand. "Imagine this, though," She suggested. "Alex trying to charm his way around Ripper with that big brown, puppy-dog eyes thing like I used to do to you..." Ethan snorted again. "Then, imagine telling Ripper that Alex is You-Know-Who's son."

A guffaw escaped the Wizard and he held his sides, shaking with laughter. "Now that would be funny. He'd be torn between running, screaming in terror or researching like crazy."

"Yeah...but, for now," She sighed, sobering. "I'm glad that Alex is just my little boy, just a plain muggle." She almost did smile. "Although, he hasn't noticed that I patch him up with magic when he comes back from the Slay-grounds. He just assumes that he's a fast Healer."

"You're a good mother, Cass."

"And you're a wonderful demon-worshipping God-father." She pressed against him, arms around his waist, his body much thinner than she remembered. "I don't want you to go away again, Ethan."

He smiled against her temple. "I'm not going anywhere, Cass, I promise. I'll drum up a little business here, catch up with Old Rupes, piss him off for old time's sake and we'll be all right."

"We better be." She mumbled, just letting him hold her.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10: The Parting Of Ways

Set - a few days after ch. 9

Chapter Ten - The Parting Of Ways

Notes: Like I said, things are getting worse, Voldemort's naughty behaviour causing all kinds of upsets, left right and centre. This is the second chapter of that former one-chapter epic.

And, again, this all belongs to respective owners. I just take things, break them and glue them back together in funny shapes :) 

_________________________

Professor McGonagall strode into the deserted Great Hall, her eyes scanning the few pupils who remained. Her shoes clicked on the floor, echoing in the eerie silence, her expression grim. 

She had just returned from a brief sojourn to the Ministry and the situation there was as bad as she had guessed it would be. 

Everywhere she had looked, wizards were trying to hold everything together, while being horribly aware that anyone they were working with, even themselves could be agents of the Dark Lord.

People were silent, work being done with haste. The usual chatter and bustle that frequently filled the offices had all but dried up, everyone casting surreptitious and suspicious glances at their neighbours, lest they be betrayed.

After persuading Cornelius Fudge that she was truly acting of her own volition and giving him the lecture she had longed to for years, she had been granted permission to return to Hogwarts with orders for any of the old groups she could get hold of.

Still, despite all her assurances, Fudge seemed to trust her about as far as he could throw a muggle bus without magic.

However, her interests did not lie with making a good impression on the ignorant and generally useless Minister of Magic, but centrally with protecting the remaining pupils of Hogwarts.

The size of the Great Hall and the fall in the numbers still resident made the building look even bigger and the figures more insignificant. Less than thirty pupils remained and every one of them still looked dubious about their decision to stay.

They were grouped together in a frightened mass at the end of the hall. Every pair of eyes had swung to the door the moment McGonagall had entered, the initial panic giving way to immediate relief.

Once again, there was silence.

The banners in the Hall were all black, out of respect for the dearly missed Head Master, who had been laid to rest on the high banks of the lake only days earlier. It had only seemed right that he had buried in the place he had loved with every fibre of his being.

His grave was marked with a simple headstone, elaborate gold lettering etched in the white marble, which Professor McGonagall knew would be lovingly cared for as if it were Dumbledore himself.

The few that remained at the school had emerged for the quiet funeral on the lakeside, even the ghosts and house elves. Several former teachers and a few braver friends joined them.

It came as no surprise that Cornelius Fudge, the Minister, claimed he was 'otherwise engaged' and could not come to the school, where Voldemort seemed to have taken to finding fresh victims.

However, those who resided on the grounds made their presence felt.

Centaurs came out of the dark forest, bringing with them Unicorns and some of the other mystical creatures that Dumbledore had granted sanctuary there. A pair of satyrs played a sad tune on their wind pipes, the Mer-people rising from the lake to pay tribute to the fallen Wizard.

It had been a sorrowful day, knots of pupils weeping together, the teachers present unashamed to join them. However, it also gave them the strength and resolve to continue the fight where Dumbledore had left it.

Quieter, though still as touching, the funeral for Dennis Creevey had been held shortly after the Head Master's. His body had been dumped on the edge of the school grounds after Voldemort had finished with him.

The boy looked like he had suffered a lot before the killing curse granted him peace.

At the request of his muggle parents and wizard brother, the boy was buried in the school grounds in one of the places that he had loved best, near the Quidditch field.

Only a few Gryffindors were in attendance, including the Gryffindor Trio, which had caused poor Mrs Creevey to weep, as she had clasped Harry Potter's hands, confiding how much Dennis worshipped him.

They had departed quickly, lest the murderer of their son was still close, but Colin had elected to stay, determined to finish what he had started, in spite of what had happened to his brother. 

He was one of the few faces lining the Hall that McGonagall now paced.

The fear that seemed to fill the halls was hardly surprising, so much so that even Peeves silent for once. 

Since the Headmaster's death and before the shockwaves that had rippled through the wizarding world had subsided, two more pupils had vanished from within the castle grounds before their parents could even summon them home, and a third was found dead by the lake.

All three had been muggle-borns.

Only one muggle-born witch and one wizard remained.

The rest had all fled back to their muggle homes, far from the world of magic and most importantly, far from the school, which - they believed - was certainly a lot safer than being at Hogwarts was at the present time. 

Given the position as Head Mistress, Professor McGonagall had made it her duty to oversee the completion of Dumbledore's long-term wishes, despite wanting nothing more than to hide herself in one of the highest rooms in the tallest towers and weep until she had no tears left.

After all, she had known Albus since she - herself - had attended Hogwarts, so many years before. He had helped her learn transfiguration so well that he actually assigned her as the teacher for it, when he received the exalted post of Headmaster.

Approaching the top of the Great hall, where the Prefects and Seniors were standing, she stopped in front of the Head Girl, Hermione Granger of Gryffindor, one of a small knot of seniors that remained.

"What's the news from the Ministry?" Professor Lupin asked. He had returned to the school almost immediately after Dumbledore's death, while many of the other teachers fled in a panic.

He looked more tired than he ever had when he had taught at Hogwarts, but he was determined to protect the school, along with the other half a dozen teachers who remained, grim-faced but equally resolved.

All of them looked tense and drawn and, judging by the decor of the hall, they had been keeping tabs on the pupils by sleeping in the Great Hall with all of them, lest You-Know-Who attempted another kidnapping.

McGonagall's lips thinned when she observed that Professor Snape was no longer present with the other members of teaching staff. 

Where he had gone, she had no doubts. 

He and Professor Dumbledore had confided in her the details of his double-sided mask shortly after they had heard of Lord Voldemort's resurrection, lest anything should happen to either of them.

Part of her both cursed and blessed their foresight, but now, her attention had to be on her pupils and the school.

"They have no plans to aid us, as yet." The Head Mistress stated gravely. "They did not believe that such a thing would happen, so now, they have been given this unpleasant wake-up call. Everyone in the Ministry is under suspicion and I certainly was not as welcome as I had been in the past."

"But they have to do something!" Granger protested. She looked as drawn and exhausted as the teachers. "They can't just leave the school open and ready for You-Know-Who to just walk in and take over."

Professor McGonagall shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid it is too late for that, Miss Granger." She said. "In my opinion, I believe that they already think the school a lost cause, so they do not want to waste their valuable time in trying to save it, since there is little left to save."

"There's always something to save!" Colin Creevey said emphatically. "Professor Dumbledore would have wanted this school to go on, even after he..." He trailed off and looked around the Great Hall. "I don't believe he'd want it to be abandoned."

"That is what I informed the Ministry of, Mr. Creevey." McGonagall said quietly. "I am afraid that they do not share our opinion." She sighed wearily. "They believe that a school without pupils is impossible to save, no matter how much we protest."

"But the deaths! Surely they have to do something!" Professor Flitwick's face bore a look of betrayal and disbelief that the Ministry could be so callous. "They could still protect what we have left!"

"Their argument," The Head mistress said grimly. "Is that if we wish to protect the children, we should send them all away, never to return. We would seal the school and leave it in that state until Voldemort is defeated."

"Unless he takes over and starts a new school for the Dark Arts." Professor Sprout put in angrily. "The Ministry doesn't know what they're talking about!"

"Is there a chance that he will try and take over?" The question was voiced by one of Granger's two closest friends, Harry Potter. McGonagall almost smiled. He looked determined and defiant, just like his father in many ways.

Although, the Phoenix that perched upon his shoulder certainly wasn't something that James would have tolerated easily.

"He could achieve it with ease at present, Potter, unless we find some way to prevent it." Professor McGonagall said, watching as he brought Fawkes down on his forearm, stroking the bird's fluffy, regrowing plumage.

It had surprised her when the newly reborn Phoenix had crawled across the floor to Harry, as soon as he entered the tower office, to take the sobbing Hermione back to her dormitory only a few days previously.

Without question, the young man had gently scooped up the tiny, bald creature. He had turned to Dumbledore, where he rested in his seat, and - causing McGonagall to break down again - had said. "Don't worry. I'll take care of him, Professor."

Somehow, there was a bond between boy and bird.

Something...

Something she knew was significant but couldn't quite remember.

"All of you," She called, clapping her hands to get the attention of the group of teenagers. "As you can see, there are few of us left. In houses, I want you to go up to your dormitories - staying together - and collect anything you should need and bring it down here. This will be where we work and live. Anyone who does not accept this arrangement, you are welcome to return home."

Silence greeted this statement.

"Very well, into your houses and go."

***

"What have you done?"

Kneeling in front of a statue in the back room of his costume shop, Ethan looked up guiltily at the fuming woman standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing with ire.

"Um...Cassie...nice to see you in my humble shop..."

"Ethan..." She held up a finger. "I'm warning you. Tell me what you've done."

He gave her a hopefully-impish grin, but he had an odd-feeling that he looked more like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. "Well, y'see, I hadn't played with chaos for a while..."

"Ethan."

"That mean's I'm in trouble, doesn't it?"

"My little boy is out there and I want to know that he's not in any danger." Dark brown eyes glared down at him. "You can have as much fun as you please, as long as Alexander isn't hurt."

"Ah...well...you see, he does have one of the cursed pieces of costume..."

"Ethan!"

"But he's safe! Really!"

"And how do you work that one out?"

He got up, motioning around the shop. "Each person becomes their costume and he was dressed as a soldier, complete with a gun. He'll be safe and so will the two girls that he's with."

"Two...girls?"

Nodding, the wizard grinned. "Pretty little red head with a ghost costume and a bottle blonde with an Eighteenth century damsel costume." Cassandra's face went white. "Is that bad?"

"Is that bad?" She echoed in disbelief. "Is that BAD?!? She's the bloody Slayer, Ethan! And you've turned her into a damsel in distress! As if raising dark powers isn't bad enough, you turn the only thing that can stop them into a swooning 'Lady'!" She froze as the bell on the front door jingled. "Finish it, Ethan." She hissed, before pulling the hood of her invisibility cloak up and vanishing. "Finish it now."

Ethan turned back to the statue, then sighed, shaking his head. "Only a little while longer." He muttered, sinking back into the shadows as footsteps approached the curtains, opening to permit a very familiar face to enter.

The wizard hid a smirk.

This was going to be interesting. 

Rayne and Ripper reunited...

***

Pacing across the jet-black floor, Voldemort was acting like a caged beast. None of the Death Eaters dared to approach him in this humour, exchanging wary glances to one another around the room.

Since early that morning, he had been doing so. Most assumed that it was something to do with some power source drying up again, combined with the sheer frustration of the previous days.

"The school was meant to fall." He murmured, his face wrinkled in thought. "The loss of the Head Master was meant to shatter them completely."

"It...I thought it did, Sir..." One of the younger Death Eaters volunteered.

He was writhing on the stone-flagged floor, screaming in agony soon enough, as Voldemort reminded him why a rhetorical question was never meant to be answered in the circle of Death Eaters.

"Young fool." Stalking back to his throne, Voldemort swung around and sat down heavily, his long fingers drumming rapidly on the decorated arms of the high-backed seat. "I believed he was the heart of the school...my mistake...and so, the school still remains inhabited..."

"What...what do you intend to do, Master?" Malfoy asked carefully.

Voldemort leaned back, a pensive look crossing his reptilian features. "I suppose that I will take them a pupil at a time, if I have to, and bring their precious school down around them, stone by stone, to show them that their feeble hope and belief cannot save them." 

"Why not hunt them down when they are away from the safety of the school?"

Sighing, Voldemort pointed his wand at the Death Eater who spoke and boredly said. "Crucio." When the man stopped screaming, the Dark Lord leaned forward on his throne. "What part of tearing their school down around them, stone by stone, to shatter their remaining faith did you misunderstand? The few that remain there are strong. I must break them, if only for sheer entertainment's sake."

"I-I beg your pardon, M-Master." Scrambling back to his position in the circle, the young Death Eater bowed deeply. "I simply did not understand the-the complexities of your plans."

"And you understand better now, I'll wager, hmm?" The man nodded desperately, his arms still shuddering from the pain. "It is rather surprising what a little pain can do for the memory, isn't it?"

No one dared to reply.

"Now, my Death Eaters, I suggest that you prepare yourselves." He slowly stood, his midnight black robes flowing around him, making him seem so much taller and more powerful. "Malfoy, see what our ...friends at the Ministry have found out."

The tall, lean man sloped out, his son at his heels.

"Avery," A white finger singled out the man. "See if you can't find dear Mundungus Fletcher. I would rather like to talk to him..." Avery made a sound like a combination of grunting and laughing.

A short, squat figure hurried forward. "My Lord, if I may beg your permission, I would like to bring you Black and Lupin."

"Don't be so foolish, Wormtail." Voldemort sighed, waving Peter Pettigrew with an imperious motion of his hand. "You have neither the wit or the capabilities to capture your former friends." One of Voldemort's long fingers caressed his own chin in thought. "However, assume your vermin form. See what the whispers are in Diagon Alley. Find out what the rumours are, lest there be any that may be of use."

A Ministry worker approached, bowing slightly. "What of me, Master?"

"You have one of the wretched Weasleys in your department, do you not?" Eyes glittered eagerly behind the grim mask. "They have always been a...difficulty we have never overcome." Voldemort unfurled his hand. "Go and see to it."

The younger Death Eater darted off, chuckling with malicious glee.

It went without saying that the Weasley family were not the most popular wizarding families in Voldemort's point of view, mainly because of their ambivalence regarding muggles and the barrier between the magic world and the muggle world.

Yes, their daughter had been fun to toy with, but...

It wasn't enough.

They were the strongest supporters of Dumbledore and probably would still be, so to break up their family, the loyal, unified mudblood-lovers, even if it took him days, weeks or months would be...

Smiling slightly, Voldemort sank back down onto his throne, his long hands flexing sensually around the velveteen padding on the crafted arms. Yes, he could be patient, but he would break them. 

His attention shifted slightly, to the shadowy figure skulking on the sidelines.

Snape.

As always, the Potions Master of Hogwarts was a puzzle to the Dark Lord. Deadly and calculating, Snape was still strangely uneasy when it came to the more hands-on work, usually being the first to leave the scene while his contemporaries would stay and revel in the bloodbaths.

He could kill, the Dark Lord knew it well, but he preferred to see a clean death, as opposed to the bloody ones that many of the Death Eaters favoured. Many of them appreciated the agony they could inflict with a blade as well as a wand, sheerly to prolong the torment of their victim.

Oddly squeamish around freshly-killed bodies, he could artistically dissect the corpses barely hours later with a deftness that eluded many of the Dark Wizards and a coolness that had first drawn Voldemort's eye to him.

Those carefully dissected bodies were often the special...trinkets left outside the homes of families who had dared to stand against him, as a quiet warning.

More than once, Voldemort had concealed himself under an invisibility cloak to watch as the doors of a house would open, then the screams would start: the delicious screams, the pleas and the weeping.

Yes, an intact corpse would yield the same results, but seeing the body of a father, a mother, a sister, a friend, a lover...one lost but you hoped, imagined, prayed to anyone who listened that they would return safely...to find them mutilated so carefully that the skin of the face literally slipped off - like a grotesque mask - when you tried to close the glassy eyes...

Snape was quite simply an artist.

Not only did his skill with a blade fascinate Voldemort, but he could brew a poison to kill fifty people in one sitting or an antidote for the substances that the Ministry had tried to poison various Death Eaters with, during his previous reign.

"Severus." 

And his name...

The hiss of the Potions Master's name on his lips simply felt evil.

"Master." Snape approached the low dais, dipping his head in as close to a bow as he was willing.

"I believe you have been keeping some contact with my Lady." The cloaked figure's shoulders tightened, causing Voldemort to raise a mental eyebrow. What was this? "I wish to hear from her, to receive some evidence that my Heir is thriving."

Snape's narrow shoulders slumped marginally, possibly with relief, something that Voldemort didn't miss, a look of intrigue flickering in his scarlet eyes. 

"I will see what I can do, Master." Snape's silken voice came from behind the mask, slightly muffled.

"Be sure you do it successfully, Severus." Threat hung on his words. "I would hate to have to punish you." Snape nodded grimly and turned, walking straight out of the dark lair as quickly as possible.

Watching him go, the Dark Lord thoughtfully scratched the hollow of his cheek with the tip of his index finger. "Tell me, Nott," He murmured. "Does Snape seem to be a little distracted to you?"

"My Lord?"

Shaking his head, Voldemort smiled a thin smile. "Never mind, Nott." He said with a casual wave of his hand. He would not forget it, though, and should he need to verify Snape's loyalty...

The thin smile widened a millimeter.

Yes, he would remember.

***

"Evidence..."

Ethan nodded. "That's what Sev said and I think he means that in the sense that if he doesn't get it, there's going to be the Devil to pay." He grimaced. "This Devil being the one you had to shag and the one paying up with interest being Sev, in blood."

"Evidence." Cassandra repeated quietly, making her lover study her anxiously. 

She hadn't been nearly as affectionate as she usually was around him. As soon as he had entered the house, she had motioned him to the seat nearest the Christmas tree that stood in the corner of the living room.

She had remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her breasts, her eyes dark and shadowed. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, her lips straight, her expression severe.

"What does he mean by evidence?" She finally asked.

Ethan shrugged. "Photos, videos, anything I s'pose..."

Standing in the doorframe of the living room that lead to the hall and the front door, the little witch pressed her temple against the wood. "Shit..."

That definitely made Ethan raise a brow. In all the time he had known her, for her to swear was a rare and usually dangerous thing. "Cassie? Luv?" He started to rise, but she gestured him back down. "Is something..."

"I'm not letting him see what Alex looks like." She said flatly.

"So send him a picture of someone else."

There was a long silence and Cassandra nodded. "Right..." Entering the living room, she rounded the sofa that Ethan was sitting on and reached into the bookshelf that stood against the wall beside him, withdrawing a photograph album.

Standing up and leaning against the arm of the sofa, he watched as she withdrew a large picture of two dark-haired boys and the red head he recognised from the album, gazing at it for a long moment. 

He recognised Alexander, but the other boy, he didn't know. The boy was clad in a black cloak and looked like he was ready to go out for Halloween, a sinister look on his face, while Alexander and the red head were pretending to be scared of him. It was clearly a few years old, but he doubted that You-Know-Who would observe that.

Closing the book with a thump, she slid it away and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Ethan uncomfortably in the living room, studying the Christmas cards strung up here and there.

One of them caught his eye: in it, two snowmen were actually having a snowball fight and what made it noticeable was the fact that they were moving. Raising a brow, Ethan lifted the card down and read it. "Thank you for all your help and I hope things are better for you than they are here. Happy Christmas. Virginia."

"Here." Cassandra had returned from the kitchen, the photograph cut up, a message scrawled on the back. 

The remnants of the photograph had the mysterious dark-haired teenager looking suitably ominous and grim. Alexander and the red haired girl had been trimmed off, so he had the appearance fitting the heir of a Dark Lord.

Turning it over, he scanned the message written in Cassandra's impeccably neat hand-writing. It announced that the Heir was well and that with the growth in darkness the world over, he was growing stronger.

Not entirely a lie, that.

"Thanks." He tucked it away in one of his many pockets. "I'll see that he gets it as soon as possible." Nodding to the card in his hand, he remarked. "So you got a Christmas card from the little Weasley?"

Cassandra snatched it from him. "I want you to leave."

Turning to look over his shoulder at his lover, Ethan received a scowl in return. "So what have I done, this time, Cassie?" He asked, turning fully to face her, spreading his hands helplessly.

"Eyghon?" Her arms crossed in front of her chest, her brown eyes narrowed at him, giving him an unspoken warning. "I overheard the kids talking about it. You've been summoning again, haven't you?"

"Um..."

"Well?"  
"Here's the thing, Cass...as long as I was going to live, Eyghon was going to be part of me...me and the Ripper." He gave her a wry smile. "I thought it would be better to get rid of the demon, because he is so bloody powerful."

"So you were destroying him?"

"Trying." He smiled weakly. "You did say that red head was the Slayer, right?"

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "No. The blonde is."

"Oh shit..." Laughing in a very fake fashion, Ethan ran a hand through his hair. "I just thought she was a lively thing...I hope she doesn't hold the tattoo on her neck against me."

"Tattoo on her neck? Ethan, you didn't..."

"It was her or me, Cassie! Someone was going to die!"

"And you just chose the bloody SLAYER!"

Grimacing, he shook his head. "You make it sound like a bad thing, luv."

"What part of 'We're trying to defeat Voldemort by destroying the dark powers of the Hellmouth and NOT harming the Slayer' did you miss?" She yelled savagely. "All I want to do is protect my son and you keep pulling stunts like this!"

"Cass..."

She turned her back on him. "Get out."

"But Cassie, luv..."

Her voice was low. "I'm not in the mood for dealing with you, Ethan. Just go."

Reluctantly, the wizard nodded and walked towards the back door. "I really am sorry, Cass." She didn't even deign to look at him, a muscle in her cheek twitching, her eyes pressed closed. "You know where I am." He said, before quietly closing the door behind him.

***

For the first time in weeks, a new face appeared at Hogwarts, the charms set to protect the remaining pupils catching him off-guard and entangling him, before he had a chance to signal that he was a friend. 

Liberated from the traps by Professor McGonagall, he had been ushered to the Great Hall, where all the pupils were, despite the fact that there hadn't been a kidnapping since they had drawn in the new security measures, almost eight weeks previously.

A few tables stood here and there, some beds floating high above the floor, ready to be drawn down when night fell. All the pupils and teachers still inhabited the Hall, the only place they were allowed to go alone, the bathrooms.

Groups sat at tables, some studying from text books, the teachers taking small study session with anyone still determined to finish their magical education. That was the scene that greeted the new arrival.

Brown eyes scanned around the Great Hall, Percy Weasley's glasses were askew, his robes tangled around his limbs. "Ginny!" He spotted his sister huddled between Harry Potter, his younger brother and Hermione Granger. "Ron!"

"Percy!" Scrambling to her feet, the youngest Weasley flew across the floor to him, hugging him tightly. "What are you doing here?"

Percy looked paler than she remembered, his lips thinning as their mother's did when she was worried or afraid. "There were rumours going round that Ministry that You-Know-Who was after one of us, so mum told me to come and hide here."

"I'm not sure this is the safest place to be, Perce." Ron had joined them. "But it's good to see you anyways."

Even though neither of the youngest Weasley children had ever been particularly close to their older brother, he was still family and having family around was always reassuring, especially with things as they were.

"How did you hear that..." Ginny shudder on the word, Harry's hand on her shoulder calming her. "Y-you-Know-Who was after someone in our family?"

Percy's face seemed to go a shade whiter and he nodded towards the table that the quartet had been occupying before his arrival. They hurried over to it and sat down, looking around to make sure they wouldn't be disturbed.

Ginny squeezed between Harry and Ron on one side of the table, while Percy and Hermione sat down on the seats opposite them, the group huddling together over the broad table.

"I shouldn't tell you this, but it'll probably come out sooner or later," He muttered softly, his voice shaking. "Someone working in my department turned out to be a Death Eater." Ginny gasped and Ron uttered a curse. "They caught him last week and he was sent to Azkhaban."

"Did he...y'know...try to do you in?" Ron asked. Like his brother, he looked pale.

Percy shook his head, his face going a funny shade of green at the memory. "He...he was given veritaserum at his trial and he said that he had been told by You-Know-Who to get one of us." Ron and Ginny both swallowed hard. "Dad and mum decided it was time for them to go into hiding and said I should come here."

"Why here?" Hermione asked. "Why not go with them?"

Percy shrugged. "I assume that mum wanted us as spread out as possible, but still together, if we're needed." He smoothed down the front of his black robes, picking a tuft of fluff of it. "Bill is off somewhere with Gringotts, so no one's heard from him for a while and Charlie is still with the dragons and Fred and George...who knows."

"Th-they'll be okay, won't they?"

Harry couldn't help smiling at the thought of Fred and George, who had left Hogwarts nearly two full years previously. "If any of your family'll be all right, it'll be those two, Ginny." 

"Do-do you really think so?"

Hermione reached over to squeeze Ginny's shaky hand. "Absolutely." She sounded so confident that Ron and Harry almost believed her. "Now, if we could just get you over those tendencies of going to the dungeons..."

Ginny looked down at the table top for several seconds, then raised her eyes to Hermione. "I won't be going back down there again." She said. "Someone told me it wasn't wise, so I'm not going to do it."

"Don't tell me Snape told you it was a bad idea..." Ron rolled his eyes.

Ginny's eyes dropped again, but this time, it wasn't in shame. It was more like she was hiding something. "He did say that it was a bad idea." She admitted. "But it was someone else who changed my mind." 

"And now, you're not going to tell us, are you?"

The girl gave her brother a small smile. "Not yet." She nestled against him. "Don't want you to think I'm completely batty."

His arm around her shoulder, Ron smiled, his cheek pressed against Ginny's flaming hair. "Ginny, I thought you were daft the minute you started to talk about Snape like he was a friend."

"Well, he is."

Crossing his eyes, Ron pulled a face. "See what I mean?" He exclaimed. "Barking!"

For the first time in weeks, laughter rang around the rafters of the Great Hall, as a bird flew across the sky-blue enchanted ceiling, the winter sun shining brightly in on them from all sides. 


	11. Chapter 11: The Bargaining

Set several weeks after ch. 10

Chapter Eleven - The Bargaining

Notes: Yes, yes, this is turning into a little epic. As with all my other semi-epics, I honestly didn't mean for this to happen. So, we're heading towards the final straight of chapters now and, if I keep going at this rate, I should have it totally finished before it gets close to November. (Bloody addictive thing...). 

Anyway, dear old Voldemort is still being mean, nasty and so on in the wizarding world and, on the Hellmouth, things aren't about to get any easier for our heroine and her demon-worshipping love-interest.

__________________

"It's getting worse again."

"So you've finally decided to come and see me." Standing with his back to her, Ethan didn't look around.

"Ethan, we can't go on like this." He sensed her approaching, gritting his teeth. "We have to help each other...please..." One small hand touched his back and a shiver ran through him. "Ethan..."

"Cass..." He slowly turned, looking down at her. "I'm sorry. I told you that when I left and I tell you again. I'm sorry." His hands came up to cup her face and he studied her intently. She looked far older and more tired than he had seen her.

"I know..." She bowed her head slightly, the smudges of darkness beneath her eyes deepening into dark pools of shadow. "I-I just was so afraid that something would happen to Alex..."

The wizard lifted her chin and gently kissed her forehead, then her lips. "You know I'll never let that happen, Cass."

"Yes...I know..." Her dark eyes closed briefly, then she opened them again. "Ethan, I-I don't know if you've heard about what has been happening around here..." He could see weariness and grief in her face. "Can I...could I sit down?"

Motioning her towards the bed that took much of the motel room's floor, yellowish light slanting through the blinds and casting odd shadows on her face, he remained standing by the desk.

"That vampire...the one the Slayer was seeing..."

"The one with a soul?" Cassandra nodded. "What about him?"

Her small hands squeezed between her knees, the knuckles white, she lifted haunted eyes to him. "He lost his soul." She whispered hoarsely. "One of the most notorious vampires to walk the earth..."

"Buggeration..." Ethan muttered, dragging the rickety chair over to the bed and sitting down.

"That's an understatement." The blonde witch said stiffly. "And it gets worse than that, already...Ripper's girlfriend, that pretty teacher..." Ethan's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. "She was a gypsy...descendant of the gypsies who cursed him..."

"Let me guess." The wizard's voice was hard. "Angelus found out?"

His lover nodded, a long silence between them before she got the words out. "Found out, killed her and left her body in Ripper's bed for him to find."

Ethan's head rocked back on his shoulders. "Damn..." He whispered, shaking his head wearily from side-to-side. "Poor Rupes... and I thought him having to deal with me was a bad thing." He brought his face back to hers. "At least he isn't going to bother with your boy." Cassandra's face said otherwise. "Cass?"

"Ethan, this vampire...he's been bound to his soul for a century...he wants to make up for what he's missed...make up for lost time...a hundred years of evil in one long burst..." The witch's voice was brittle. "I think he might be the one to give Voldemort enough power to tip the balance in his favour."

Green eyes widened. "No..."

"I think so." Cassandra muttered, rocking slightly on the edge of the bed, her eyes downcast. "He's strong, he's dangerous and the Slayer can't kill him, despite what he is... she loves him. That's how he lost it...his soul..." 

"But maybe we..."

Cassandra shook her head in the negative. "Ethan, he's got a vampire seer. They know things before they happen. We wouldn't have a chance, even if we risked using magic. Angelus willingly works with large packs of vampires and we can't fight more than one vampire each, at a time."

"Meaning that we're up shit creek without a paddle?"

"Unless she can somehow bring herself to kill him, the...thing wearing her lover's face..." Brown eyes met green. "I doubt she can, but we can hope..."

Ethan reached down and took Cassandra's shaking hands between his. "Cass, luv, you're always going on about how tough the little bint is. If she can cope with Ripper as a watcher and your boy as a friend, she'll be fine."

"She has to be the one to destroy him." Cassandra slid forward, into Ethan's waiting arms, stinging tears spilling down her face. "Only the purity of what her love for him was can blot out whatever evil he's planning."

Ethan sighed, holding her against him. "Then we better just hope she loves the man enough to kill him before he damns himself even more."

Nodding, Cassandra just nestled closer to Ethan, letting him embrace her and shield her from the world outside, his warmth and gentle arms the one thing that meant as much to her as her son.

***

The Great Hall was ringing with chatter for once.

Christmas and winter had both come and gone and things seemed to be improving for the pupils still in the school. No pupils had disappeared in almost five months and no dark activity seemed to be happening close to them.

The Professors had discussed in depth the possibility of letting a few of the pupils - who had been starting to get snippy with being cooped up for so long - outside for a brief stroll in groups, in the Spring-awoken, under the protection of Professors Hagrid and Lupin.

It had finally been agreed upon and Harry Potter had been in one of the first groups to go out, his argument being that if Voldemort wanted to snatch anyone, it would be him, so if he came back safe, then others could go too.

The third group had just departed, while Hermione and Ron just returned, looking rosy-cheeked and laughing. There was something invigorating about being in the fresh air after so long indoors.

"It's amazing out there, isn't it?" Harry smiled as they approached the thick, squashy red chairs that stood near one of the fireplaces. Fawkes was perched on the arm of the chair, cooing contently as Harry stroked his feathers.

"Its never looked better! Everything starting to bloom again..." Hermione settled down in the chair next to him, chattering excitedly about everything she had seen, the tip of her nose crimson. "And I was just thinking about how sad it would be if the school had to close and no one ever saw how beautiful it was..."

The somber tone returned. 

"There has to be something that can stop You-Know-Who." Ron murmured, looking up at the misty windows.

Hermione nodded. "If I could only go to the library and...Harry, what on earth is Fawkes doing?"

Fawkes was clicking his beak on one of Harry's buttons, tugging at the small, round object. "What is it?" Harry asked. The phoenix tapped at the button again, giving it a significant jerk. "Yes, it opens." Unfastening his shirt to reveal his T-shirt, he yelled in surprise as the Phoenix stuck his head through the gap. "Fawkes!"

Tugging his head back out, Fawkes blinked up at him, Harry's wand held securely in his beak.

"Give it back, Fawkes." In response, the Phoenix fluttered away from Harry to land on the arm of the seat next to Hermione, raising a foot to grasp the wand, so he could free his beak. "Fawkes," getting to his feet, Harry started towards Hermione's chair.

The Phoenix lifted the wand in front of his face with his foot and looked like he was studying the wood. Then, he did a surprising thing.

Opening his gleaming beak, he warbled a long, sustained, painfully beautiful note that held in the air long after his beak closed, the sound penetrating the skulls of the trio of teenage wizards. 

Hermione gasped, staring at the phoenix. "Harry! Look!"

A visible aura of soft gold light had shimmered into view around the flame-coloured bird and the slim wand it was holding. Spreading from Fawkes, the light rippled outwards, until the phoenix shone blindingly. 

"What's doing that?" Ron asked cautiously.

Hermione seemed dazzled. "I've read about this." Ron made a face that suggested he wasn't at all surprised. "Sometimes when a powerful mystical creature meets a wand with a core that belonged to something similar, it can create a kind of magic far more powerful than the wand alone, especially if the magical creature supports the user of the wand."

Harry was hit by a sudden revelation.

"Of course!"

"Eh?"

Hurrying across the room, Harry held out an arm, which the phoenix climbed onto with remarkable ease, considering it had one foot to support itself. "I should have remembered about this sooner. I mean, Ollivander and Dumbledore both thought it was important."

"Harry." Hermione was looking at him in confusion. "Would you mind telling us what you're talking about?"

"Fawkes! He's the phoenix that provided the core for my wand." 

"So that's why he's glowing?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "I always wanted to see what the power-flow looked like. After all, the illustrations are never quite adequate."

"No, listen!" Harry interrupted. "It's more than that. Fawkes can help us to protect the school!" Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that clearly stated that neither of them was seeing the significance of what he had said. "He didn't just give the core to my wand. He gave two tail feathers. One was in my wand and the other was in You-Know-Who's!"

"EVERYONE!" Professor McGonagall's magnified voice boomed in the Great Hall before Hermione could even comment on this, all thoughts of the wands and cores rushing from their heads as the Head Mistress hurried in. "Remain where you are. Do not leave the Great Hall under any circumstances!"

"What the hell...?" Ron started to ask, but wished he hadn't when McGonagall started towards him, her mouth a straight line. 

"Weasley," Her voice shook and Ron met the Head Mistress' eyes. He seemed to see something there that his friends didn't, his eyes screwing up and his mouth opening and shutting wordlessly. He shook his head mutely, his hand groping out for Harry's arms, as he crumpled to the floor. "I...I'm sorry, Weasley."

"Wh-what is it?" Hermione's voice was a feeble squeak.

McGonagall's nostrils flared as if she was trying to get enough air to speak, her lips twitching. Her eyes looked moist, hands clenched by her sides. "Death Eaters." Cut into short fragments, her sentences were spat out. "Attacked the group. Ginny and Percy were taken..."

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth, tears brimming up. "No...oh God...no... oh, Ron... " Reaching out, she locked her arms around her friend, shaking her head up at the Head Mistress.

"Lupin. He and Hagrid were with them. And the others." The Head Mistress said tersely. "They tried to fight. Outnumbered..." She released a quavering breath. "It was too quick. We couldn't have stopped them."

Harry, one arm around Ron's shoulders, stared searchingly at her. "What about Hagrid and Lupin? And the others?"

"They should be all right." She said quietly. "Ronald?" 

"Not again..." Ron mumbled weakly. "Not again..." Professor McGonagall knelt and placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. She couldn't find words to say. Ron shook his head, lowering his face, still whispering like a mantra. "Not again...not again..."

***

"If it isn't the illusive Miss Weasley."

The calm, chilling voice was the first thing that pervaded Ginny's senses, her vision slowly fading back in from the black that seemed to have swallowed her, her body trembling as a face came into focus.

"No..."

Voldemort smiled down at her. "Hello, my dear."

"NO!" Jerking upright, despite the pain that burned right through her skull, Ginny scrambled backwards across the floor, away from the snake-like face of the Dark Lord, colliding with the wall on the far side of the chamber.

"Come now, Ginny, there's no need to be afraid of me." His smile was enough to say she should be screaming in terror. Ginny obliged, an ear-splitting shriek echoing off the walls and ceiling.

A simple wave of the wand muted her, leaving her pressed back against the wall, terrified eyes fixed on Voldemort.

It was at that moment that she realised that she wasn't the only one on the floor.

Percy lay like a limp rag-doll cast to one side, his glasses broken, his mouth sagging open, blood trickling from his nostrils. He looked like he had been on the receiving end of several hexes.

Before she could move to prevent them from getting him, screaming wordlessly to her brother, two Death Eaters grabbed the unconscious body of Percy and dragged him out of sight.

"I give you a choice, my dear." Voldemort turned to her. "You can resume your former position of your own accord," She shook her head frantically. "And save your brother's life in the process, or I can take you by force, or by the Imperio curse."

The words that the witch spat silently at him caused the Dark Lord to chuckle. "My, my," He murmured, approaching her. "I didn't know that your vocabulary was quite so expansive, my dear girl."

A colourful line of miming followed.

The furious hand gestures that accompanied the litany of muted bad language more than adequately detailed exactly what she thought of him, the tears streaming down her pale face.

"That's all very well, my dear, but I shall remove the silencing charm and you shall give me your answer." He motioned to the black drapes, through which Percy had been dragged. "Your body for your brother's life, or your body and his death."

Ginny gasped as the spell lifted from her. "How...how do I know you won't just kill him?" She croaked. She almost added that she knew what he had done to the mother of his Heir's family.

"When I can torture him for so much longer?"

"No!" Her voice rasping from the spell, she held up a hand. "No torture!"

"You intend to stop me?"

"Please...don't hurt him..."

"And what, pray, is to stop me?"

Tearful, but defiant, Ginny staggered to her feet. Her face had gone from white to green, her legs shaking beneath her, but she still managed to walk across the floor to stand in front of Voldemort. 

Looking like she would collapse to the floor at a word, her shaking hands rose to his face, bringing his head down to her level and pressing her lips against his, the first time she done so with his own features on display.

Dropping back, she stared up at him, eyes shining with desperate hope and shame, a rather intoxicating combination in one so young.

Voldemort gazed down at her for a long moment, then made a gesture to one of the masked figures around the room. "Lock the boy up below." He said. "Keep him where we can get him easily." 

Several of the Death Eaters scrambled to obey.

Turning back to the girl, he unfurled his hand. "Come." The word was softly spoken but had an underlying threat as hard as diamond. 

Unresisting, Ginny Weasley shuffled her icy feet and miserably followed her new Master through the drapes to his chambers, to the one place that had haunted her nightmares since the year before.

***

The warmth of the Spring night air was almost unbearable, Cassandra tossing and turning in the bed beside her potion-dosed husband. Sheets wadded around her damp thighs and she jerked upright, gasping.

"Ginny!"

Panting, she threw aside the white sheets covering her, shaking violently. Swinging out of the bed, her feet came down on the rough carpet of the floor and she staggered towards the bathroom, her hands groping along the wall in the dark.

One hand fumbled against the bathroom wall, finding the switch in time for the witch to stumble into the room, falling to her knees as a surge of vomit erupted from her lips, splattering on the gleaming white bowl.

Sinking back on her heels, her face flushed, she peeled matted tendrils of sweat-soaked blonde hair away from her cheeks. Tears stung in her eyes, her hands pushing through her hair and twisting the wavy mass agonisingly around her fingers, as the hard, dry sobs came.

It had been so vivid...

So real...

Sinking against the cold bathtub, unfeeling of it's chill, Cassandra's nails bit into her scalp, her sobs quieting to a violent shaking that tore through her body fiercely, as she tried to muffle the horror...the awareness that Ginny was once again Voldemort's.

Her knees pulled up against her chest, she hugged them tightly, pressing her cheeks against the bony caps until she could feel the inside of her cheeks grinding against her teeth, bloody flavour filling her mouth.

Pressing her eyes tightly shut, she could still see what the dream had revealed to her, felt the touches plied to Ginny's body by those cruel, invasive hands that she had been so familiar with herself, so many years ago.

Only now...now, it didn't feel so long ago.

It felt as if she had just escaped him all over again, the feelings of shame and self-loathing burning like acid in her stomach, even though it was no longer her body that he violated.

Scrambling to her feet, shaking fitfully, she stumbled back to her room, grabbing her invisibility cloak and wand and running out, down the staircase. 

Pulling the silky cloak around her, uncaring of the fact that her feet were bare and she was only clad in a nightshirt, she yanked the front door open and raced out into the California night.

The streets of Sunnydale were strangely quiet, which was never a good thing.

Cassandra ran as fast as she could, her feet beating rapidly on the pavement, the skin scraped raw by gravel and broken glass, but she didn't plan on stopping until she reached her destination.

Unfortunately, she hit a snag.

Or, in this case, a vampiress.

The raven-haired creature, garbed in dark velvets and lace, grabbed at her as she ran past a clump of trees, unseen, the vampiress senses apparently more acute than the Witch realised. 

Shrieking, she was yanked backwards. 

The hood covering her head was pulled back off her face, the vampiress' face close to hers, a bony arm locked around Cassandra's neck, the only thing preventing her from falling or fleeing.

Huge blue-grey eyes gleamed eerily in the haunting, alabaster face, long, silken curls of dark hair bobbing around the vampire woman's long, slim neck. Ruby lips parted in a gasp of wonder.

"One of power." The vampiress murmured, her other hand drifting over Cassandra's face, not quite touching the skin. "Your skin...it hums such happily sad songs to me... smelling of sunshine and bitter rain..." A chilly tongue ran up her cheek, catching the tears that had fallen. Cassandra shuddered. "Such bitter rain..."

"L-let me go."

Whimpering, the woman pouted at her. "But if puppy let's the kitten go, what is the puppy meant to eat up?" Snake-like, the vampire's head oscillated from side-to-side, coming closer to Cassandra's face.

The witch's hands fumbled through her robes, trying to find her wand. "I said," She gasped, the arm on her throat cutting off her breath. "Let go of me!"

Vague, strangely feline eyes finally stared straight into Cassandra's brown eyes and the vampiress released her, uttering a high-pitched shriek. "No!" Backing away, her hands raised to shield her face, the vampire whimpered pitifully. "Oh, Dark Lady... forgive me...I did not know!"

Sprawled on the grass, half-covered by her invisibility cloak, one leg, a hand and her head visible, Cassandra stared at the woman with confusion and fear. What the hell had just happened?

"What are you wailing about this time, Dru?" A tall, dark figure prowled out of the shadows nearby, his striking, angular face more than familiar to the half-visible witch, who frantically struggled to conceal herself, but it was too late.

Angelus descended on her, his hands locking onto her hidden arms and jerking her close to him, the cloak falling from her body, pressing her hard against his leather-clad chest, the smell of death and blood heavy on him.

He towered over a head taller than her, his hair alone giving him at least a couple of inches of benefit, his body feeling like solid muscle through the black silk and leather that he wore.

"You got me a pretty one this time, Dru." He leered at the terrified witch. "Small, blonde and dumb. Just the way I like 'em."

"Leave this place...we must leave...run and jump, all away!" The vampiress moaned, grabbing at his arm and pulling him back, forcing him to release one of the witch's bruising arms. "She is the Dark mother, my Angel...the mate of the snake-beast...we cannot have her...we cannot..."

"Dark lady?" His brown eyes - tinted with gold - surveyed her. "Doesn't look dark to me. Bet she'll taste delicious anyway." His forehead shifted, his eyes melding into solid yellow, his teeth lengthening into fangs. "Won't you?"

"Sss! Bad daddy! Bad!" The vampiress' claw-like nails slashed him across the cheek and - this time - he dropped Cassandra, who froze with fear at the sight of two of the Scourge of Europe fighting over her. 

The night suddenly seemed so much colder that it had when she had fled the house, the moon clear above them. Her nightshirt had torn a little, slipping off her shoulder, the long fabric bunched up around her thighs.

"What the hell did you do that for?" His anger turned on his female companion.

"Fools rush, my Angel. Hoppity hop, they rush!" The woman's demon had come to the fore, her gold eyes meeting his angrily. "Touch not the dark one's lady or when the day comes, you shall receive such a beating as never there was! Smack!" She clapped her stick-like hands together for emphasis. "And fun shall there be none!"

The large male vampire growled at her. She met it with a growl of her own. "You're insane." He snapped savagely.

"With the little birdies singing la la la!" She responded, baring her fangs. "You shall not have my lady!" Much to Cassandra's fright, the vampiress glided towards her and held out a hand. "Come, sweet lamb," She said, looking hurt when the witch backed away from her. "I won't harm you, sweet lamb!"

Bending, Drusilla caught Cassandra's arms and helped her to her feet. She cocked her head, her fanged mouth opening in a smile, something as frightening as a savage snarl for the witch. 

"Wh-what are you going to do to me?" Cassandra shivered at the cold touch of the vampire on her skin.

"Sh...sh..." A cold fingertip touched her lips. "We prepare, dark little lady. The drum bangs louder and louder and when the trumpet calls, the doors will open!" The witch tried not to cringe when the vampiress bent close and touched the Dark Mark on her shoulder. "His hold on you is strong, lady...his mark sings of your strength...your power tingles in you..."

"V-Voldemort's mark?" Stammering the name, Cassandra saw both Drusilla and Angelus flinch at the word.

"You speak his name." Drusilla hissed, sounding almost...reverent? "By any other name as sweet, lady. A name to be feared. Call him but a rose..." Brown eyes stared at the vampire. "We ready for him, lady, we sleep and make hay and make ready..."

"You what?"

The demon woman rolled her head on her neck. "He knows, lady...when we shall knock, he shall await the opening of the door..."

"V-very good." Forcing a shaky smile, Cassandra nodded. "Now, if I may..."

"Flights of naughty angels stray onto your path, lady...we will whisk them away into the dark!" The slender vampiress clicked her fingers, loud in the silent street. "It's just like magic!" Turning, she crooked her finger at Angelus. "We shall dance and sing with our sweet lamb!"

"Meaning?" The dark vampire was studying Cassandra with suspicion.

"She is dancing to see the one who has lost his mark in times near." Drusilla sing-songed. "She cannot dance alone, my angel! We shall help her to fly to his marred arms and there, shall the sweet lamb be in the fold!"

Angelus looked like he was about to protest. He looked at Cassandra suspiciously and she hoped he wouldn't recognise her. "Tell me one thing." He said, his voice low and dangerous. "Why do you say his name so easily?"

"H-his name?"

"His."

"Vol...?" A cold fingertip silenced her again, Drusilla shaking her head, eyes wide with fear. 

"We mustn't poke the snake with a stick, until we know that he won't bite us!" She exclaimed fearfully, making snapping motions with her hands. "My Angel, you are nosing into our lamb's secrets! Leave her be, or he will have you!"

Angelus seemed to accept whatever the vampiress' crazy ramble meant and nodded, still glowering at the witch. "So, where are you going, witch?" He demanded in a soft growl, that suggested he didn't intend on being as lenient with her, if he ever caught her alone.

"H-Highway Motel."

Much to her confusion and uncertain fear, the insane vampiress insisted that she and Angelus escort Cassandra all the way to the Motel, chasing off several demons who tried to approach, and waiting at the door until Ethan opened it.

He looked from one vampire to the other, then at Cassandra. "I think you have some explaining to do, luv." He remarked quietly.

"Sing happy songs, sweet lamb." Drusilla cooed, placing a kiss on Cassandra's pale cheek. "No more bitter rain shall fall now! He won't be found and you can dance and sing and be joyous!"

"Thank you for that, Drusilla." Watching as the two vampires melted away into the darkness, the woman still chanting happily to herself, Cassandra stepped across the thresh hold and shut the door firmly behind her.

"So are you going to explain what the hell that was about?" Ethan demanded, as she loosed her invisibility cloak and let it fell off her shoulders. Only then did he see her bloodied feet and dirty nightshirt. "Bloody hell, Cass! What happened?"

Before she could answer, he had her scooped her up in his arms, carried her across the dim room, placed on the bed and was treating her feet. She lay back, enjoying the care for once, her eyes closing.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened anytime this millennium?" He asked as he cleaned the open sores gently.

Cassandra opened her eyes and smiled at him, then she started to laugh. It wasn't just a regular, Cassandra-styled chuckle, but a full-blown cathartic belly laugh that shook her right down to her scratched toes.

"What?" He demanded. "You've not gone and caught froot-loops lack-of-sanity thing, have you?"

Shaking her head, her laughter gradually calming to steady giggles, she wiped her eyes with the heel of her grubby hands. "No...no...nothing like that." She giggled a little more. "I...I just realised that I was about to say I had a funny night..."

Ethan's brow rose. "A funny night?" He echoed.

Another burst of giggles erupted from her. "Oh God...I shouldn't be laughing, I really shouldn't..." She gasped, clutching her sides. "But I-I...I had an armed escort... the Scourge of Europe...baby-sitting me...calling me sweet lamb and-and-and treating me like I was priceless..."

Ethan just stared at her and said one more time. "A _funny_ night?"

***

"Are-are you all right, Percy?"

It was a stupid question, but the girl didn't know what else to ask.

Ginny had been permitted to leave her richly-decorated 'chambers' for a brief visit to her brother's confinement cell, thick, black robes clutched around her shoulders to cover the scant nightwear that had been provided for her. 

When she had entered the prison where her brother lay, huddled, on a threadbare mattress, his clothes in tatters, dirt streaking his face and body, she had wanted to weep, but she bit on the inside of her lip to try and hide her pain and grief.

She couldn't and wouldn't show she was weak, not in front of them. Not in front of him. Not in front of her elder brother. She had to be strong and make him think that things were all right…

Black stone made up three of the walls, slime and mould oozing down the square blocks of darkness. There was no real light, save for a flickering, greenish torch outside of the cell.

Hazy brown eyes looked in her direction. "G-Ginny?" Falling off the mattress, he scrabbled across the floor towards her, reaching through the narrow bars that lined the fourth wall of his cell to grab her hands. "Oh, Ginny...I'm sorry...this is my fault..."

"No, Percy, no!" Kneeling down on the black stone, she slid a hand through the bars to touch his face. Voldemort had kept his word and Percy wasn't physically marked, although he looked absolutely terrified. "It wasn't any of our faults...it was him..."

Her brother stared at her sightlessly, his hand shaking in hers, his face cold. "Why us?" He asked, his voice sinking to a breath. "What did we do to him? Why would he want to harm us?"

"Harm you?" Ginny shuddered as Voldemort's silken voice rippled around them. "I would not class your imprisonment as harm, young Weasley." The girl flinched as rough lips touched her neck. "You sister, on the other hand..."

Managing to jerk himself upright, Percy grabbed at the bars. "What have you d-d-done to her?" He demanded.

"It doesn't matter." She whispered. "It's all right, Percy."

"How very noble of you, little girl." Voldemort hissed against her neck, his fingers gripping her skin bruisingly. "Come. You have seen your brother. It is enough that he is alive." She was dragged roughly to her feet and steered towards the door.

"Ginny!"

She glanced back at her brother, his arm stretching out to her through the bars of his cage. "I'll come back and see you, Percy!" She called, trying to squirm free of the Dark Lord, who forcefully navigated her towards the door. "I promise!"

Above her, she heard Voldemort chuckle cruelly and she felt sick.

Something told her she was never going to see her brother in that cell again.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12: The Testing

A couple of weeks after chapter 11

Chapter Twelve - The Testing

Notes: I should really be reading The Massacre of Paris right about now, for a two hour seminar tomorrow. However, unfortunately for me and my tutor, this story here is imbedded in my brain and therefore, I must finish it before I even dare to consider the chance of having a student life of any kind.

So, here we are - ninth to last chapter. This is where loose ends will start to be tied up, I hope, and I'll try and get the rest done as soon as possible! I want to be able to sleep through the night without being woken by ideas! And yes, as with every chapter before this, its getting darker as we go. You have been warned :)

Also, big thanks go to everyone who has been posting reviews on this for me – they get me all tingly and I do like knowing that I'm doing something vaguely right :) 

Lastly – don't forget you can see more HP crossovers at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hpcrossover/ - do feel free to stop by.

And now, for my crappy disclaimer - is not mine. I poor. Deal with it.

__________________________

The chamber was dark and eerily quiet, the only sounds the crackling of the flaming torches along the black walls and the whispering rustle of the robes of the assembled Death Eaters.

Snape's eyes flitted around warily.

The dimly-lit anteroom was absolutely packed with Death Eaters, the stench of their barely-masked fear, unease and sweat permeating the Potions Master's nostrils, even through his mask.

Rarely did all the Death Eaters gather, unless news of a serious target had come in.

They were so tightly packed together, small knots of the corrupted families standing in huddles, that it seemed impossible for any of them to move. All eyes were on the black and silver drapes that hung along the rear wall.

It felt like an eternity before the drapes parted, allowing the Dark Lord and a small, cloaked and hooded female figure to exit, approaching the dais.

Sinking down into his throne and sprawling out with effortless ease, like a great cat surveying his prey, Voldemort's lips arched in a smirk, his eyes hooded, as the girl knelt down beside the throne, her head down, face hidden.

From what could be seen, she was small and slim. Bare feet protruded out from beneath her black robes, small, white hands folded demurely in her lap. Not many would notice that they were shaking.

Behind his mask, Snape's brows beetled. What was this? Voldemort had picked another helpless girl to serve as his play thing? How had it come to pass that he heard nothing of this, when he had come for his tasks from his Master?

Who was she?

A child of one of the Death Eaters?

Unlikely...

Then who?

He hadn't returned to Hogwarts since he had left, knowing that once he entered, he would probably be sealed in with the remaining pupils and teachers and he honestly didn't think he could cope with sharing the Great Hall's air with Remus Lupin.

Perhaps one of the pupils...

No: The school had been put off-limits for some reason, almost two months earlier.

A muggle?

Doubtful: Voldemort wouldn't want to soil himself.

So who...?

Feet shifted uncomfortably on the gleaming floor, as the Death Eaters waited for their Master to speak. He, however, appeared distracted, his hand had snaked beneath the kneeling girl's hood, his fingers probably tangled through her hair. 

If there was one thing that Voldemort loved for no known reason, it was the long, rich, thick hair that witches so often seemed to possess.

When he finally deigned to turn his attention to them, a communal breath of relief combined with fear rippled around the crowded chamber, the shuffling of shoed feet silencing immediately. Scarlet eyes gleamed around at them and he smiled again.

"My Death Eaters." He said, studying each of them with his unwavering stare. "I believe it is time that we reminded this feeble world of ours who has the power and the will to use it." 

Some enthusiastic cheers rose from the Death Eaters in front of him. Near the back of the assembly, Snape's shudder went unseen, but he still strained to hear every low-voiced hiss of his Master's voice.

"The guard of several of the half-blood families has been lowered, due to a lack in activity in the half-blood world of late." His smirk made him look even more sinister than usual. "Pity they did not seem to mind when the muggles were the ones to die."

The Potions Master grit his teeth.

So it was back to baiting and killing mud-blood and half-bloods now? He knew that he had a limit on the amount of time that he had to get to the Ministry, to warn them to warn the ones who may be under threat.

Pressing forward a little, his stomach felt like it was twisting into knots as he saw Voldemort handing out thin slips of parchment to groups of Death Eaters, bestowing a cruel smile and nod on each of them before they disapparated.

So he couldn't just flee to the Ministry immediately...

His nails bit into the palms of his clenched hands and he was certain that blood was being drawn, but he ignored it, watching as group after group vanished, until there were only six figures left.

"Ah, Lucius," Voldemort lazily handed the last sliver of half-curled parchment to the masked man and rolled his head back on his neck. "Take the boys and we shall join you there temporarily."

Bowing slightly, Malfoy and his two companions disapparated, leaving Voldemort, Snape and the girl in the silence of the dungeon, the expanse of stone floor spread out between them.

"Come forward, Severus..."

The girl's hooded head turned sharply toward him and Snape felt a sharp lance of horror. Surely not...

Voldemort grinned down at him, the calculating smile of a Devil. "I believe you know my young friend, do you not?" His long-fingered hand jerked back the hood, revealing the bone-white face of Ginny Weasley.

Hopeless, sorrowful brown eyes stared up at the Professor, run dry of tears. She looked utterly shattered and Snape felt his heart breaking, wondering if it would have been a mercy to let her take the poison the year before.

Once again, she was gaunt, a shell of her former self, so much so that Snape wanted to cradle her and allow her to weep as he had done so many times in the past year. 

The Professor's own dark eyes flicked from her to Voldemort, who raised his brows, still smirking. 

He knew...dear Merlin! He knew!

Biting on his tongue to smother a moan of despair, Snape clenched his hands into tighter fists by his side. "I recall," He said, his voice so tight he was sure that his vocal cords would snap. "She was your plaything last year." 

"And an awfully charming creature, wouldn't you say?" Thrusting his hand through the girl's mass of red hair, he jerked her head back savagely, making Ginny cry out in pain. Snape flinched at the sound. "I've had her near a month and a half now and still, she surprises me."

"You are hurting her, Master."

Voldemort cast a quizzical look in the masked Wizard's direction. "I know that I am, Severus." He said quietly. "It is all part of this lesson, which you will come to understand in time."

Lesson...?

"Please!" Bent at an agonising angle, Ginny was sobbing desperately, dry, harsh sobs, tufts of her hair audibly ripping free from her scalp. "Please! Stop!" In response, Voldemort merely jerked her back harder, his gleaming eyes locked on Snape's. The girl's shrill scream of pain echoed off the walls.

"Master!" Snape started to move forwards, only for Voldemort's wand to be levelled at his chest.

"You intended to betray me to your precious Ministry, did you not, Severus?" The Dark Lord's voice was calm, steady, but that only served to signal that he was at his most dangerous. With a flick of the wand, Snape's mask spun off, landing on the floor halfway across the room. "I do not...appreciate betrayal."

"Master, I would not..."

"You lie." He barely had time to brace himself for the pain he knew would come, before Voldemort whispered. "Crucio." 

Crashing to the stone floor, Snape's body jerked and spasmed agoningly. He could feel his bones twisting and undulating beneath his skin, his flesh rising and rippling to accommodate the movement, nerves screaming out in a way that he couldn't.

His throat seemed to have closed up completely, preventing him from screaming, breathing, begging, anything. 

It felt like his skull was clamping in on his brain, the pain tremendous, his eyes burning, tears streaming down his face, milked from his throbbing sockets. White and scarlet flashed behind his vision, spotted with black.

A hoarse, gagging cry erupted from his throat and then...

Nothing.

Panting and shuddering, Snape managed to slump onto his side, facing his Master, his face etched with pain and tears. A quiet, frightened whimper from Ginny made his heart wrench in a way that even the Cruciatus curse couldn't manage.

"Now, Severus, I have a little task for you..."

Struggling onto his throbbing knees, Snape raised a shaking hand to smear away the trickle of blood that was oozing from the corner of his mouth, his eyes swimming with pain. Swaying unsteadily, he nodded.

"We are going on a little mission, the three of us..." Voldemort's eyes remained solely on Snape, his hand resting on Ginny's head, the girl flinching each time he stroked his fingers through her dense curls. "We have some...associates who must be taken care of...by you, Severus."

Shaking his head, Snape tried to form words. "I-I don't kill..." He stammered, his jaw still twitching from the Cruciatus curse. 

Voldemort sighed, tutting. "Well, that really is an awful pity, you see, because I have no qualms about it." He turned his wand towards Ginny, who jerked back with a frightened gasp. "Would you appreciate it if I showed my prowess?"

"Don't."

"What was that, Severus?"

"Don't harm her."

Scarlet eyes studied him with something akin to amusement. "Perhaps I should just place the Cruciatus on her now, to teach you a lesson about betrayal."

Somehow, the Potions Master - despite every bone in his body feeling like it was burning - threw himself forward, between the girl and the wand of Voldemort. "Over my dead body." He croaked, shielding Ginny with his own body.

The tip of the Dark Lord's wand tapped the centre of his breastbone once, red eyes gazing at him. "That could be arranged, Severus," He murmured silkily. "But, as I have more entertaining plans for this evening, I would appreciate you being present to do your part." He glanced over Snape's shoulder at the shivering Ginny. "Behave and I may let the little vixen live." 

"Why me?" Panting, Snape had to ask. "If I'm a traitor...why let me live...?"

The Dark Lord smiled slightly, showing his upper teeth. "Be assured that it is just a temporary arrangement, my dear Severus. I do so enjoy your gift with a blade...and your potions are seldom flawed." One cold, thin hand snapped out and locked around Snape's aching throat in a vice-like grip. "I still have uses for you, you see, and you best be sure that I have your full cooperation or I may let some of our compatriots share in the pleasures that Miss Weasley gives me."

Snape closed his eyes. So that was it. The only reason that the poor, innocent child had been brought back into the game was to be a pawn for Voldemort to use to trap him into an inescapable Checkmate.

A hissing chuckle from before him made him open his eyes again. "So you have worked out my little ploy, eh, Severus?" The bony hand slid from his throat. "And expect you will be frightfully noble about it all."

"No...you don't have to..." Ginny whispered hoarsely from behind him. He could hear the shaking in her voice, one of her small hands touching his throbbing back. "I-I would be all right."

The Professor ignored her. "What do you wish me to do?"

The flat, smooth face of Voldemort bent closer, inches from his, the crimson eyes flaming. "Exactly what I order." He growled.

Snape bowed his head in acquiescence. 

For the life of girl who wept quietly behind him, he knew he would do anything, order or not.

***

Night had fallen on the melancholy school.

Four-poster-beds had been pulled down from the ceiling of the Great Hall and placed on either side of the hall, the boys to the right, the girls to the left. Not a sound rose from them, every pupil asleep.

Every pupil, except one.

Stirring, Harry Potter shifted uncomfortably beneath his blankets and sheets, tossing and turning. Part of him was afraid to sleep, lest dreams come, but another part of him simply wanted to collapse into the oblivion of sleep.

Flopping onto his back, he stared up at the top of his four-poster.

That was when he was hit by a rather surprising revelation.

One hand rose to his forehead and he couldn't help frowning. It didn't hurt. In the past few months, his head had constantly been throbbing, night and day, nothing any of the teachers provided helping, but now, for no reason, it didn't hurt!

There had only been a few occasions since You-Know-Who had returned when his scar hadn't hurt and most of those were when he was unconscious, or was in the protection of someone he knew and trusted.

Sitting up, Harry edged towards the crack of light between his curtains, wondering if he should inform a teacher of this. 

Many of them took the case of his scar very seriously.

Peering out through a chink in the deep red drapes, he could see a solitary figure sitting in the Head Teacher's chair, at the far end of the hall, in front of the fireplace, where a merry fire crackled.

After a moment's deliberation, Harry eased out from between the drapes, pulling his dressing gown on as he went. He shivered as his feet touched the bare stone of the floor, hastily searching out his maroon slippers with the tips of his toes.

As quietly as he could, he made his way towards the fireplace, tying his gold and scarlet dressing gown cord with shivering hands. For some reason, despite the fire, the Great Hall felt strangely cold.

"Excuse me?" Nearing the back of the huge chair, he cleared his throat. "Professor?"

The voice that spoke certainly wasn't who expected. "Ah, Harry..."

The boy's brilliant green eyes shot wide open and - on legs that were quivering like jelly - he came around the chair, staring down at the inhabitant as he did so, his mouth falling open in shock.

"You know," The amused voice continued. "I had never noticed before, but from this angle, you remarkably resemble a codfish."

"P-Professor Dumbledore?"

"So you have not forgotten me, eh, Harry?" The shimmering, pearly-white figure smiled at the boy. "I must say that is rather reassuring." He shifted, his beard rustling softly as he did so. 

Harry managed to blink several times. "H-how are you here?"

"Alas, that I cannot answer, Harry." The smile grew slightly melancholy. "Perhaps it is my love of the school that held me here...or perhaps I am forever condemned to search the castle for all the odd socks that went missing over the centuries."

Harry blinked at him. Did Dumbledore's ghost just make a joke about socks?

Looking at the fire, Dumbledore studied the flames for a long time. "I have seen how bad things are, Harry..." He said quietly. "I wish I had had the foresight to prevent this so many years ago."

"Um...sir?" Harry tried to find the right words to say that wouldn't offend the head master's ghost. "Do you...that is, is there some way that you know of that we could... er... defeat You-Know...Voldemort?"

Pearly-blue eyes that reminded him briefly of Ollivander stared up at Harry. "There is nothing that I have that would be of assistance, Mr Potter." He said quietly, his eyes studying Harry intently.

"Is...is there something that...I have?"

He thought he saw the flicker of a smile.

"Perhaps..."

"Are you going to tell me?"

The smile widened a little. "Perhaps." The twinkle that Harry always remembered was back in his ghostly Mentor's eye. "But then, Harry, that which we really need and look so hard to find, often transpires to be right in front of us all the time." 

"Is..."

A shrill voice from further down the Hall interrupted Harry's question and he turned to see Professor McGonagall striding towards him in her notorious tartan dressing gown and nightcap. "Harry Potter! What do you think you are doing, out of bed at this time of night?" She came around the chair, still talking rapidly. "I am..."

What she was about to say never emerged, as she saw what Harry had seen.

Her mouth opened and shut several times, one thin finger rising and pointing at the figure in the chair.

"Albus..." Her voice was a faint squeak. "It's you!"

He glanced down at himself, then back at her, his eyes twinkling. "Alas, I am so transparent." He remarked with a straight face. McGonagall uttered another strange, squeak-like sound and promptly keeled over in a dead faint.

"Is...is she all right?"

Dumbledore nodded, chuckling, as he got to his feet. "She survived your father and Sirius and the Weasley twins." He answered conspiratorially. "I think she can survive fainting this once...although perhaps you ought to find Madam Pomfrey..."

"Yes, Professor." The boy started past the ghost.

"Oh, and Harry," He looked back. "Best keep this between us for now, eh?"

Again, Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor."

When he looked back again, a few seconds later, Dumbledore was gone.

***

"Wh-what are we doing here?"

Lord Voldemort ignored Ginny's quavering voice, as he swept up the front path of The Burrow, dragging the girl forcefully by her right arm, Snape reluctantly following a few paces behind them.

The door was already hanging open and Ginny whimpered in fear and panic as she was dragged past several Death Eaters, into the living room. 

The moment that they entered the room, she shuddered. It was much darker than she remembered, an eerie green fire burning in the heart, frightening shadows dancing on the walls, stretching forms of the Death Eaters casting ominous silhouettes.

Everything in the room seemed much sharper, much more dangerous and unfamiliar than she remembered home being. All the softness and warmth had faded to black and icy greens and silver.

Looking around the dark, chilling room, the girl was both relieved and ashamed to be concealing herself under the hood of her cloak, when she saw just why she had been brought back to her family home. 

Her parents were there, and Bill and Charlie.

Molly, white-faced, was clad in travel robes and seated on the couch, fear-filled eyes roaming the masked, hooded faces. Her husband, also in travel robes, was standing just in front of her protectively.

Bill and Charlie were standing defiantly near their parents, but Ginny could see that they were both frightened as well. Bill's cheek was twitching, his hands shaking by his sides. Charlie's face was whiter than their mother's and he looked like he was only keeping his mouth shut to stop himself being sick.

"Arthur Weasley." Voldemort murmured, releasing Ginny's wrist. She considered trying to run, but found herself blocked on all sides by Death Eaters, none of whom she believed to be Snape. "Finally, we meet."

"Leave my family out of this and I'll come with you peacefully." Her father's voice shook, but Ginny felt pride swelling in her heart. He wouldn't be a coward like the Death Eaters were.

Voldemort chuckled, a whispering, hissing sound. "You would have no choice, peaceful or otherwise, Weasley. You are unarmed. We are all armed. I do not believe you would commit noble suicide." 

"What do you want with us, then?"

"We come to offer you a place among us."

Arthur spat savagely at Voldemort. "Never!"

The Dark Lord didn't seem at all surprise, raising his slim fingers to wipe the glob of mucus from his cheek, glancing at it with casual interest, before turning his attention back to Arthur, still rubbing the tips of his fingers together.

"You are foolish, Weasley."

The red-haired wizard stiffened his back. "I stand by what I believe is right."

"Bravery and folly...so often they intertwine..." Sighing, Voldemort motioned for Ginny to be brought forward and jerked the hood back from her face. "Your daughter certainly had her share of bravery."

"G-Ginny?" Bill voiced the croak, shaking his head.

Tears filled her eyes. "I'm sorry..." She whispered. "They made me..."

"Oh, Ginny..." Molly started to rise from the sofa, a shaking hand held out to her only daughter, but one of the Death Eaters stepped forward, a hand on her shoulder forcing her to sit back down. "Ginny..."

A wand was placed into the girl's hand, held tightly by a Death Eater's, in the direction of her family.

Even if she tried, she wouldn't have been able to pull away.

"Now, little girl," Voldemort's voice was a hiss beside her ear. "Choose one."

"Wh-what?"

His lips skimmed the shell of her ear, making her shudder and shy away from him, but his hand locked around her arm in a vice-like grip, bruising her skin. "Who do you love best? Who do you love least? Who will you touch with the killing curse?"

"I-I can't!"

"Perhaps I shall just kill them all then?"

"D-d-don't make me...please..."

A snake's kiss was placed on her neck. "You should know, pretty one, that begging serves no purpose to me."

"Ginny," Bill stepped forwards, his expression resolved. "You...pick me if you have to pick anyone..."

"No, Bill." His father drew him back, determination on his face, a face that looked so much older and more worn than she could remember her father being. "Take care of your mother for me." 

"Arthur..." Molly Weasley whispered, shaking her head.

Turning, he bent and gently kissed her and pressed his forehead against hers. "Molly, it has to be one of us." He said softly. "Don't you see that? You have to look after the boys and Ginny." 

"Please, Arthur...not like this..." Her hands came up and clasped his face, pulling his lips down on hers fiercely. She was sobbing when they broke apart, trying to hold him as he pulled back, closing his eyes for a moment.

Lifting her hand in his, he pressed his tear-soaked cheek against the back of her shivering hand. "I have to, Molly." His voice was low, barely a whisper. "I love you too much to let them kill you. You and our babies."

"Dad..."

"No, Bill. You have your life ahead of you." Drawing away from Molly, he clasped Bill's shoulder. "You..." He couldn't say more, hugging his eldest son briefly, then turning towards his daughter. 

"Daddy..."

His eyes met Ginny's, tears spilling uncontrollably from her lids and gathering in the hollows beneath her eyes, before splashing down her face, and he smiled at her. "I love you, Virginia Weasley."

"No, daddy...no..."

Voldemort chuckled. "This is why I love dealing with families so. They provide so much entertainment." His hand steadied Ginny's, holding the wand. "Perhaps a little of the cruciatus, first, hmm?"

"No..." Whimpering, Ginny shook her head. "No...please..." A cry of pain escaped her when Voldemort's grip tightened on her thin wrist. "No..."

"Would you prefer to be the cause of all their deaths, little girl?" His voice was a hiss in her ears.

Shaking her head, unable to speak, shuddering sobs rocking her body, she pointed the shaking wand at her father, tears burning so fiercely in her eyes that she could barely see. Her father gave her one of his calm, quiet, sad smiles and nodded his head.

"C-c-c-crucio." She sobbed, the wand jerking in her hand.

"ARTHUR!" Molly screamed, lunging forward, as her husband crashed to the floor, his own hoarse cries ripping through the silence of the house, his body twisting and writhing on the floor.

Again, a Death Eater pushed her back on the couch, but she pushed forward again.

This time, the masked figure hurled her back forcefully and followed the push with a savage back-hand that sent Ginny's mother reeling, Bill catching her, his eyes burning with hatred.

Both of them turned their eyes to Arthur, who was still arching and crying out on the ground. His eyes bulged, drool and blood bubbling from his torn lips, which he had gnashed on with his teeth.

Bloody gouges were opening in his face and neck, torn into his skin by his own blunt fingers, deep and deadly. His legs jerked and spasmed, bones audibly snapping with his impact against the floor.

His screams had trailed into bloody gurgles, his head thrashing violently from side-to-side so hard they could see the fractures forming as his skull seemed to change shape before their eyes.

Blood rippled out from bulging eye sockets, spattering the carpet. His teeth clattered together, shattering, broken pieces and shreds of tattered, torn off flesh matting the floor around him.

"St-stop it..." Ginny whispered, trying to break the wand off from the curse.

Death Eaters started laughing, drowning out Molly's despairing sobs and Ginny's desperate pleas. 

"Oh, I forgot to inform you, little girl." Voldemort hissed in her ear. "This wand was specially designed for situations such as this." He bit her earlobe hard enough to draw blood, making her cry out again. "The only way you can stop it," His tongue flicked the bite on her lobe. "Is to kill him."

"Do it, Ginny!" Bill cried out desperately, trying to shield his mother's eyes, as their father ripped his own face to shreds with his bare hands.

"I-I can't..." She sobbed.

"You have to, Gin..." Charlie added, his voice trembling. "You have to..."

Shaking her head, tears still streaming down her white cheeks, she drew a shaking breath and pointed the wand. "A-A-Avada K-K-Kedavra..." Still, Arthur continued to thrash and writhe on the floor at her feet. "I-it didn't work!"

"You obviously want your father to suffer more, don't you, little girl?"

"N-no!" Pointing the wand down at her barely-recognisable father, she tried to stop her hands from shaking. Pressing her eyes shut, she cried out as loudly as she could, which was little more than a whisper. "A-Avada Kedavra!"

There was a sound like rushing wind and a flare of green light.

Silence followed.

Opening her eyes, Ginny forced herself to look down, her hands coming to her face, a wild cry of grief bubbling up from inside her, the wand dropping to the floor, as her father's mangled, lifeless features stared blindly up at her.

"Bravo, little girl." Voldemort murmured. "You murdered your own father..."

Caught in Bill's arms, Molly gave a released a terrible, haunting cry, sinking in her son's arms. He buried his face in her mass of hair, holding her tightly, his shoulder shaking with sobs.

Standing where he had been since they entered, Charlie's lips were pressed together in a thin line, silent tears coursing down his cheeks. Kneeling, he shakily closed what remained of his father's eyes and bowed his head.

"I...I didn't have a choice...I didn't...I didn't..." Whispering reassurances to herself, as well as her family, Ginny stared down at her father's body, shaking violently. "I-I didn't want to...didn't...didn't..."

Her legs felt like they were turning to water, her head swimming. Everything seemed to be fading in and out to her, but Voldemort's steel grip on her arm stopped her from sinking to the floor in a heap.

"Perhaps, my Death Eaters, we should depart." The Dark Lord smirked around at the family. "Although..." He nodded to the Death Eater who had slapped Molly down. "I think you would like to see who was the cause of your grief."

"Master?" The Death Eater's voice sounded positively gleeful.

Voldemort smiled coolly. "Yes." He nodded to the figure, then spoke again to the cowering family. "He was watching over your home, for your return." Jerking Ginny upright, he lifted her chin with the tip of one long, icy fingertip. "I believe you will want to know this, my dear little girl, as he is the one who arranged your abduction from Hogwarts...he brought you back into my hands."

Forcing her face up, glistening tears still rippling down her cheeks, Ginny stared at the figure as he raised his hands to his head, lowering his heavy cowl and reaching for his mask.

Jerking it away, he grinned devilishly down at them.

Molly uttered a gasp and shrank back against Bill, who shook his head. "No..."

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13: The Splintering

Immediately after chapter 12

Notes: Well, here we have it. A new chapter. I was aiming for a cliff-hanger at the end of the last chapter - kind of like the very cheesy ones they have in soap operas, so dun-dun-dun! Guess where this chapter will start from! And yet again, I should be doing work for uni, but the ideas for this chapter and the ones surrounding it have just kept developing in wild ways that I can't resist writing anymore! 

The only reason I've gone do long without writing it is because I've a) been ill and barely had the energy to sit up (although it didn't stop me writing really - considering the number of series I'm working on atm...oy...) and b) been away from my computer for nearly three days, leaving me with class work to catch up on, which is always fun. Not. (Note - next chapter may take about as long to come along - I have a presentation next week, so must research).

Again, though, thank your to all the people who have been stroking my ego in all the right places :) (Yes, it is as kinky as it sounds ;)) It really is a good feeling when you know people like what you do, even if it is evil and nasty...I would have replied to each of your reviews, but the answers i would give would probably spoil the chapter and I don't wanna ruin my nice dramatic impact at the end by adding them, so maybe when this series is finished... (only 7 chapter after this one!)

And, lastly, disclaimer - IS NO MINE! I'm poor, so therefore, I cannot possibly own anything detailed in these stories, apart from the somewhat convoluted plot ideas & Kat, dear, please take you ship out of my head! They won't leave me alone!

Now, onto the actual ficcy-ness :)

And, as usual, badness ensues.

_______________________________

Chapter Thirteen - The Splintering

"Come." 

Torches on the grim walls flared to life as people filed into the black, stone room, footsteps shuffling and clattering on the dark floor as they moved forward in a seething mass.

The Death Eaters had returned to the lair and the small figure of Virginia Weasley was dangling from Voldemort's cold hand, his fingers locked around her upper arm and holding her upright.

Snape watched from the front of the group.

She was clearly in shock.

Behind his mask, his lips thinned into a grim line. For her to be in shock was hardly surprising - she had been forced to torture and murder her own father, in front of her mother and brothers, at barely seventeen years of age.

Her cold, bare feet were stumbling on the floor and her eyes were blank as she was tossed in a tangled heap at the foot of the Dark Lord's throne, Voldemort sweeping down to sit on the elaborate piece of furniture.

"Now, my dear Ginny," He murmured, stroking her long, red hair. "Tell me. Did you enjoy our little trip outside tonight." Tear-filled brown eyes stared blankly up at him, the girl's lips white. "Come now. Tell me how you feel."

"He..." Her voice was dry, rasping, tears pooling beneath her dark-ringed eyes and rolling glassily down her cheeks, into the hollows beneath her cheekbones. Bowing her head, she started to sob softly.

Snape clenched his fists, wanting more then anything to spirit the poor child out.

Voldemort, however, merely smiled. "You are strangely quiet this evening." He noted dryly. "Perhaps you should speak to someone you trust..." He motioned Snape forwards. "After all, one you trust brought you here."

"Stop it..."

"But it is true, Ginny." Voldemort continued, smiling pleasantly. "You loved him, trusted him and what did he do? He arranged to have you brought to me. It is through him that you came to kill your own father."

"STOP IT!" The young witch screamed. "Stop it! Shut the hell up! I don't care! I DON'T CARE!"

"Don't speak to Lord Voldemort in such a way, Weasley." A snide voice said from the sidelines, easily recognisable as a Malfoy's voice. The Potions Professor almost shook his head, tutting under his breath. 

It certainly wasn't a clever idea to tell a frightened, angry and betrayed witch what she should and shouldn't do.

Sobbing with grief and rage, the girl's eyes flashed fire, more energy than Snape had seen in her for the last two years. "Shut the hell up, Malfoy." She spat pithily.

"So the vixen has some spirit after all." Voldemort remarked, twisting his fist into her hair and jerking hard. Ginny yelped in pain, pulled up onto her knees. "Perhaps now that she is...a little angry...you. Step forward."

A Death Eater alongside Snape stepped forward and withdrew his mask.

Ginny's face bleached instantly, as she saw what her mother and brothers had seen, and she sagged back down, uncaring of the long crops of hair she was leaving tangled in Voldemort's hand. 

"It...it couldn't be you..." She whispered. "No... it can't be..."

"Why on earth not, Ginny?" The young man pushed his hood back from his face and smiled down at her.

"Because..." She cringed against the side of the throne, Voldemort releasing his hold on her hair. "You...you're not...not Percy..."

"I beg to differ." Still smiling, he reached up and straightened his glasses.

Snape's teeth sank into his lower lip. He could see the girl was coiling herself down, like a spring about to explode outwards, her toes tensed against the stone floor, her eyes locked on the traitor's face.

"Percy isn't as stupid as you, you bastard!" She leapt at him too quick for Voldemort to grab her, even if he had tried to, her nails stretching out to gouge her traitorous brother's face.

Avery's arm caught her, mid-jump, and she was smashed down onto the floor, A cry of pain escaping her. Pushing forward, Snape grabbed her and hauled her free from Avery, his eyes flashing behind his mask.

"Let me go!" Ginny thrashed against him, lashing out with arms and legs. "I'm going to kill him!"

"You wish to kill another member of your family, dear Ginny? And here I was, believing that you actually cared for them." Voldemort's silky voice immediately ceased her struggles and the girl went limp in Snape's hold, sobs shaking her body.

"I didn't want to..." She wept, her small fists beating futilely against Professor Snape's chest. "I...I didn't..."

Voldemort was clearly amused. "Take her to my chambers, Severus." He said, with a wave of his hand. "I shall see to her later."

Scooping the girl up, unresisting, Snape carried her feather-light body through the drapes of the throne room, taking her to the broad, luxurious bedchamber she shared with Lord Voldemort, placing her on the thick blankets.

Curling up in a foetal position on her side, she continued to sob bitterly, the violence of her cries making Snape physically flinch. One bony hand came out and hesitantly touched her shaking shoulder.

"I killed him..." She whimpered, her small hands gripping the blankets. "I killed my daddy...I hurt him...and killed him..."

"But you saved the rest of your family, child." The Professor squeezed her shoulder gently, tears stinging in his eyes for the pain that she was going through, wishing he had been the one to send the killing curse.

"I...I didn't have to kill him...I didn't...but I did...killed my daddy..." She buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. Her face slowly turned to him, her hands falling away, her brown eyes enormous and terrified. "They...they'll send me to Azkaban..."

"No, child! Never!"

"B-but..."

Silencing her words with his fingertips, he shook his head. "Child, you did the best you could under such circumstances." Gently stroking her cheek, he sighed. "Had I been in your place, I would not have been nearly as brave as you have."

"I-I'm not brave." She whispered, more of those silent, tragic tears trickling down her gaunt face. "I'm not strong...or clever...or anything...I just do..." She sniffed hard, turning back onto her side. "I just do what I have to."

As exhaustion and despair caught up with her she sank into a dream-filled sleep, Snape sighed, his hand still lingering on her pale cheek. "You are brave, child, and strong, and so much more than you know."

***

"And where do you think you're going at this time of the morning?"

Alexander whipped around at his mother's voice, startled. "Mom!"

"Yes." She was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen wearing her dressing gown, her hands closed around a mug of coffee, her eyes fixed on him. "So, are you going to tell me?"

"Uh...school."

"This early?" She raised an eyebrow.

Alexander gave her his best, winning, "I'm a good boy" smile, but she could easily see that he was distracted by something and she didn't have to guess what was on his mind. "Cause I wanna up my grades?"

"Alex, you're lying. I'm your mother. I can tell."

"No fair, mom."

Cassandra smiled wearily, placing her steaming mug on the small table beside the kitchen door, crossing the floor towards him. "Alex," She stopped in front of him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "You know I love you, don't you?" He nodded. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"I don't, mom. Not much." Immediately, a closed expression crossed his face. "Why did you think I'd get hurt anyway?"

"This is a bad town, Alex." She murmured, her eyes fixed on his face, as if she were trying to see into his mind. "If it wasn't for your father, you know I would take you away from here because it's so dark...powerful. No one else seems to notice, but if I didn't know better, I'd say good old Sunnydale was on the edge of hell."

Alexander's face shifted through a series of expression. "What...what do you mean, mom?" He began, avoiding her eyes. "It's just a regular SoCal town. Every town has its problems."

"I guess so, although we do seem to have a lot of gangs on PCP and a helluva lot of gas leaks for such a small town." She stood on her toes to muss his hair. "You just take care, okay?"

"I always do, mom." He smiled. "After all, I have to be a knight in shining armour for Buffy, Cordy and Willow." He paused for a moment, then added. "Oh, and Giles, even if he doesn't like me."

"Giles?"

"Librarian guy - he's English and Willow-smart, only smarter." Alexander pulled a face, as if intelligence was the worst crime possible. "He's just like they are in the movies. You'd like him cause he's all...smart about things."

"Sounds wonderful." Cassandra murmured. "And you hang out at the library?"

"Cordy, Willow and Buffy study there..." He made the feeble excuse she had been waiting for.

"And they'll be there today?"

"Uh..."

"That's a yes and yes, you want to go and watch them study, isn't it?" Nodding towards the door, she chuckled as he swung his bag onto his shoulder, giving her his familiar, dopey grin that reminded her painfully of her brother.

"Love you, mom." He dropped a kiss on her cheek, before wandering out into the Californian morning.

"And he's not the only one." A voice purred in Cassandra's ear as she closed the door, invisible arms sliding around her waist.

"Ethan!" She hissed, swatting at him. Twisting in his arms, she yanked his hood down and was met by a long, lazy kiss. The invisibility cloak was rapidly discarded, along with her dressing gown and his clothing.

A short while later, Cassandra was half-seated on the couch, Ethan lazing on his back, beside her, with his head resting in her lap. Her fingers were stroking through his curly hair and he sighed.

"Luv, if I smoked, I think I'd need a whole packet after that."

"I missed you too, Ethan," She smiled down at him, her hand running down to rest on his chest. "But that doesn't explain why you decided to show up first thing in the morning and shag me against the front door." 

He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. "Thought I'd bring a bit of cheer before delivering the bad news."

"Bad...news?"

"Very." He started to sit, then seemed to think the better of it, opening his eyes and looking straight up at her face. "Your boy has been getting tougher and stronger. Sev hasn't been able to get in touch, but big news just broke...Arthur Weasley was killed two nights ago."

Cassandra's already pale face went chalk-white. "No..."

"It gets worse than that, luv." Reaching up his chest to clasp her hand, he squeezed her fingers. "The one who held the wand that killed him...it was his daughter, Ginny. They made her choose - kill one or watch them all die. Arthur told her to do it."

Hot tears splashed down onto his upturned face and he tilted his head, pressing his cheek against her bare belly in a gesture of wordless comfort, his hand completely enfolding hers.

"I should have done something...stopped it all..." She whispered. 

"How, Cass?" The wizard demanded, his tone sharp. "What could you possibly have done to stop him from rising? How could you have done it without getting yourself killed in the process?"

She didn't reply, one shaking white hand rising to cover her face. Sitting up, Ethan gathered her in his arms and held her close, her body so much frailer and thinner than he remembered it being.

"Cass...luv, I'm sorry."

"I-I-I feel so bloody useless, Ethan." She whispered miserably, against his chest. "I want so much to help stop him and all I can do is sit here and watch while he kills and destroys families..."

"You've done one thing that no one else in this world could, Cass." He murmured, against her hot temple. "You took the one thing that could make this situation even worse, the son and heir of the Dark Lord, and made him into a young man, who would rather fight against someone like Voldemort, than fight with him."

"But will it be enough?" She asked softly, spreading her hand over his heart. "What would stop him getting another Heir?"

"Lack of willing female company?" Ethan suggested, nuzzling her thick hair.

"In case you forgot, that was me, seventeen years ago..." She pressed closer to him, shivering. "You don't have to be willing. All you have to be is female and believe that whatever he says won't be manipulated so he can lie about everything."

"Let's just hope that he doesn't find someone like that, then."

Nodding, Cassandra replied. "We can hope..."

***

"What do you want?"

Standing at the end of the bed, Percy folded his hands behind his back as he studied his young sister by the light of half a dozen torches on the walls. She was crouched in the middle of the four-poster bed, glaring at him as if he were worth less than the dirt on the floor.

Her thin body was clad in the sheerest of nightshirts which did very little to conceal her body. Her long hair was brushed, no doubt by magic, but her face was twisted in hate and disgust.

"Is it so hard to believe that I want to talk to my baby sister?"

"I'm no sister of yours." She spat at him, scrambling towards the edge of the bed, hatred and anger vying for dominance in her dark brown eyes. "You're not my brother. My brother would never side with Voldemort."

"Now, now, Ginny..."

Swinging out of the bed, the stone floor icy against her feet, she glared at him across the expanse of the mattress, as she started to make her way around the bed. "Don't you 'Now now' me, you bastard." She hissed. "Because of you, daddy is dead."

"Pardon my slip in memory, but who was it that performed the killing curse?"

Ginny flinched at his words, but still moved purposefully towards him. "If you had left me at the school, none of this would have happened!" Her voice was low, angry, her hands clenched into tight knots at her sides. "What happened?"

"When, Ginny? When you became my lord's whore?"

"When you became a fucking idiot, Percy." She spat.

He took a step towards her, his hand rising as if to strike her. Bracing herself for a blow, he eyes shut, Ginny shuddered when Percy's hand caught her chin. "I'm not an idiot, little sister." He whispered. "I just listened and he made sense."

"Sense?" She stared at him in disbelief. "He kills people for entertainment and you say he makes sense?" Laughing in disbelief, she shook her head. "You're crazier than I thought!"

Percy shoved her away, the girl colliding with the bedpost, wincing. "Laugh at me, then, Ginny." He snarled savagely, anger flaring in his eyes. "Laugh like everyone always did." Making a sweeping gesture with his hand, Percy started pacing in front of her. "Look, there's Percy Weasley. So clever, working oh so hard, but does he get anywhere? No! What's he good for? Pointing at and laughing at! He can't do anything right, can he? His boss got himself killed and Perce didn't notice, oh ha ha! What a jolly good worker!"

"That's why you listened to him?" Ginny said, her voice shaking. "Because everyone treated you like an idiot for trying too hard, you went out to prove a point by becoming a bloody Death Eater?"

"Shut up, Ginny." His voice rose to a furious shout, and he whipped around to bear down on her. "You don't know what it was like!"

"I know exactly what it was like, you prick!" She moved towards him, smacking her fists against his chest. "I'm the stupid little girl who was possessed by Riddle in first year, when I was just trying to fit in. I was the whimpering little sister who could never get anything right. I was the filthy slut who shared Voldemort's bed for four months because I was too stupid to realise that he was really Voldemort!" She smacked his chest again, her eyes flashing. "I ended up as his whore again and anyone in a mask will remind me of it! I know more about being taunted and picked on than you ever could!"

"You have no idea." He hissed, grabbing her upper arms and forcing her back against the bedpost, his grip bruising her skin. "He gave me the chance to become something, to become someone and this time, no one will laugh at me!"

"Oh yeah?" Ginny's lips rose in a manic grin. "Ha!" Percy snarled, shaking her, but that only seemed to make her worse. She started to laugh in earnest. "You think," She panted, hysterical. "That this makes you any less of an arsehole?"

"Stop it!" He shook her again, harder.

"Can't stop..." She was doubled over, laughing uncontrollably, her eyes maliciously fixed on her brother's paling face, which was contorted in a combination of rage, humiliation and shame.

"STOP IT, YOU BITCH!" He slammed her hard against the post of the bed, jolting all of the air out of her, but the vehemence in his voice only made her wild, ringing, hysterical laughter worse.

Tears of sardonic mirth rolled down her pale face, her chest heaving with the force of her laughter.

"I said stop it!" Driving his fist savagely into her belly, Percy's blow lifted her off her feet, hard against the bedpost and he stepped back, panting as she dropped like a stone, landing heavily on the floor, vomit spraying from her lips.

Gasping for breath, her nightshirt soaked with digestive fluids and sticking to her body, the sour smell permeating the whole room, Ginny doubled over, drawing a sharp breath, her eyes going wide. 

Raising her tear-filmed eyes to the glowering Percy, she released a shrill, demented laugh, laced with pain. "Oh, boy, Perce." She panted, her eyes drifting in and out of focus. "You're in big trouble now." 

She looked down at her legs that were bared to mid-thigh, directing his attention to them and to the deep red stain spreading and soaking through the transparent fabric of her clothing that was wadded between her thighs.

Another hysterical giggle sounded from her. "Hell...big big trouble..." She was starting to shake violently, but still managed to smile at him. "Y-you might wanna... get your boss...about now..."

Backing away, Percy was staring at the blood, which was starting to pool around Ginny's body. "Oh shit..." He whispered, shaking his head, the angry red in his face fading to grey-green.

"I'll say." Ginny slumped back against the bedpost, her eyes rolling up as her brother fled through the dark curtains and into the main area of the throne room.

***

"Mum?"

Sitting silently on the couch, staring at the spot the carpet where her husband had died, Molly didn't acknowledge the voice of her youngest son, her hands still holding one of Arthur's old robes, his scent lingering on it.

Her fingers stroked the worn material, occasionally lifting it to her face, to press against her cheek, letting her inhale his safe, familiar smell. Tears slid down her face, but still, she stared at the carpet.

Ron stood in the door between the living room and kitchen, having just arrived from the school. 

Like every other member of the family, his eyes were red-rimmed, his face blotched from tears that had fallen, his clothes rumpled and several days old, but he didn't care how he looked.

"How long has she been like that?" He asked Charlie, who was sitting at the kitchen table, staring sightlessly at a cold cup of tea that was gripped between his burned, callused hands, several empty cups sitting on the tabletop nearby.

Shaking himself, Charlie looked up. "Mum? Since it happened." 

Ron lowered his eyes. Part of him wanted to be the one to console his mother, but the other half was - like Bill was - screaming for vengeance on the ones who had done this to his family. "Was it him?"

"Who?"

"You-Know-Who. Did he...was it him that...you know...?"

Charlie's face contorted in shock. "They...they didn't tell you?"

"They didn't tell me what?" Turning to the table, Ron immediately sat down, facing Charlie, who shifted uncomfortably. "Don't tell me it's not your place, Charlie. What happened here?"

"You-Know-Who...he brought Ginny with him." Charlie's voice sounded like he was forcing it out of a tightly clenched throat. "He made her...dad told her to do him, to save the rest of us." 

"He...he made Ginny...?" Charlie nodded, staring down at his cup of tea. "Fucking hell!" The empty cups were swept off the table, shattering on the floor and against the cupboards, as Ron surged to his feet, his face scarlet with rage.

"Ron, don't!" Charlie rose, holding out a placating hand. "It won't help."

"But he made Ginny do that! Our bloody sister!" 

His brother nodded, sitting back down. He looked exhausted, his face unshaven, his eyes shadowed. "I know, Ron. We were there. Saw it. But anger won't help. Not now... we have to look after mum."

Slamming his fists against the wall, Ron pressed his forehead against his upraised forearms. "Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse..." He mumbled, voice muffled by his maroon jumper.

"So has he told you about Perce, yet?" A gruff voice snapped, both of them looking towards the hearth, where Bill had tumbled out onto his feet. Straightening up, he dusted down his full-length, dragon-hide jacket.

Ron glanced at Charlie, who was looking a little green. "What about Perce?"

"Bill..." Charlie cautioned. "He doesn't need to know this..."

"The hell I don't! What about Percy? Is he alive? Is he okay?"

"Oh, yeah. He's alive all right. Just batting for the other side." Bill answered for his younger brother. "Yeah, he became a Death Eater, took Ginny to You-Know-Who and arranged for You-Know-Who to come here and bump off dad. Nothing to worry about really."

"You're kidding..."

Bill's grim face met Ron's statement. "Do I look like I'm fucking joking, Ron?"

"But Perce...he's a good guy...he does what he's told...works hard..." Ron shook his head, making his way back to the chair on wavering legs and sinking down. "He...why would he change sides?"

"Who knows?" Bill growled, as he pulled his jacket back and started withdrawing several muggle weapons from belts and pockets. "But if that son of a bitch comes near me, brother or not, I'm going to kill him for what he did to Ginny and dad."

Ron looked from Charlie's anxious face to Bill's dangerous one. "What happened to Ginny?" He asked urgently. "Where is she now?" His brothers exchanged looks and Ron closed his eyes. 

"I'm going to get her back." Bill said quietly, studying a muggle revolver. His voice was twisted with anger. "No one hurts my baby sister like that."

"Bill, please, be reasonable." Charlie said, grasping his elder brother's wrist. "You don't even know if she's still alive. Don't go and get yourself killed...I think it might kill mum if you did..."

Bill looked down at Charlie's hand on his wrist, then met Charlie's calming gaze. "I have to get her back, Charlie." He said, his voice shaking with emotion. "As long as she's alive, I have to try and get her out of there."

***

"Dead."

"Pardon?"

The statement was repeated. "She is dead."

Voldemort's hands clenched around the end of his throne. "The cause?"

"A massive internal hemorrhage due to an aborted pregnancy, which was caused by a blow to the stomach." Snape reported, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke, his eyes full of torment, his face pale and gaunt.

"Pregnancy?"

Snape nodded. "Yes, Master. She was expecting a child."

"My child." It wasn't a question. It was an ice-coated statement. His slit-like nostrils dilated, his eyes reduced to slits, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "And who was the one to deliver the blow?"

"Weasley, sir. She angered him and he struck her."

Voldemort's hairless brows rose slightly. "Ironic." He stated softly, his eyes focused on nothing. "His first capture brings me his youngest sister and his first killing is that same person." A long-fingered hand stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I'm afraid that the boy will have to be punished for this."

"Yes, Master."

Scarlet eyes moved to Snape. "There was nothing that could be done?"

"By the time I was called, she had lost too much blood, Master. I-I tried to substitute it with a sanguine potion so I could treat the injuries, but she was too weak." The distress that Voldemort recognised in the Professor's voice sounded genuine and the Dark Lord was certain that Snape was on the verge of tears behind his mask. "She died just after I reached to her."

Intriguing.

Snape truly had cared for the strange, oddly-attractive little girl who had blossomed so much under adversity. 

Voldemort sighed. 

He had hoped that the hate she felt for him could be redirected towards her brother, then be moulded and shaped, so she could have become a willing tool for his side: a fiery vixen, something in her that had only shown itself on a few occasions.

Alas, it was too late now.

"Dispose of the girl's body." He said quietly, leaning back against the high back of the throne, his eyes closing. "Do not damage her further. I believe she has earned that little respect."

Bowing, Snape lowered his head and departed from the throne room.

***

"Where did the little prick go?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Haven't seen 'im."

"'E ran off after 'e 'it 'is sister." Goyle added, Malfoy throwing his head back with a sigh of frustration. one day, he said to himself, he would get some help who had more than one brain cell between them.

"All right, you take this side of the ground, I'll go this way. Draco, you with me."

Crabbe and Goyle lumbered off, leaving Lucius and Draco Malfoy standing in the middle of the grassy lawn, looking around the expansive grounds. "You do realise he could have apparated out, don't you, father?"

"He won't have." Lucius Malfoy said, his voice calm. "He was under the imperio curse, which bound him to these grounds. I doubt he has the nerve to break an imperio cast by Voldemort himself."

Draco glanced sidelong at his father. "I thought he was one of us."

"As you, all the death Eaters, and his family were meant to believe, Draco." Malfoy smirked. "It appears that the deception was adequate, doesn't it? His family believed he betrayed them all. The Weasleys have been broken. Now, he's no longer useful, so our Master will kill him."

"He has been under the imperio since he was captured?"

"Before that." The smile on Malfoy's lips was chilling. "He was brought before our Master through the bi-apparation spell months ago, in secret, just after Dumbledore was destroyed. No one but our Master and I knew."

Together they started across the grounds, the son still apparently considering what he had just been told. "Father, was Weasley acting under our Master's commands when he brought his sister to him?"

"Do you think he would have brought her otherwise?"

Draco shook his head. "It...I should have realised it."

"It was a very covert use of imperio." Malfoy said airily. "It was made to look as if the fool had been won over to our Master's ethics. His mind is so simple that it was barely a challenge for our Master to control him."

"Simple?"

"He had two things he focused on - family and work, but centrally work." Malfoy continued. "Most people have many things to distract them, but this Weasley's mind... he only had the most basic of concerns."

Draco nodded, his eyes scanning around the gardens ahead of them. His eyes screwed up and he pointed. "Father, what do you think that is?" 

Ahead of them, something was dangling from one of the ancient oak trees.

"Good grief." Malfoy groaned. "He better not have damaged the tree."

They approached the trees, Draco uttering a gasp.

The younger of the two staring up in shock at the body of Percy Weasley, swinging from side-to-side in the light wind, his torn robes twisted into a makeshift noose which had been looped around his neck and bound to the thick branch of the ancient oak tree.

"Suicide." Lucius remarked dryly. "Well, this is certainly different." Circling the swinging corpse, he withdrew a folded scrap of parchment, which was sticking out of the pocket of Percy's trousers. "It seems," He remarked, reading the brief note. "That Mr. Weasley did break the imperio curse, after all. He didn't want to give our Master the satisfaction of using him further."

"Won't he be just as happy that he's dead anyway?"

"That, Draco, is the amusing irony."

***

Back in the depths of his fortress, Voldemort seemed oblivious to the presence of all of his Death Eaters, his hands tightening around the arms of his throne, his slit-like nostrils dilating. 

His breathing was rapid and agitated, shudders passing through his body. His thin lips parted at regular intervals to release sharp gasps, his scarlet eyes rolling upwards, his eyelids fluttering.

Looks were being passed among the Death Eaters, consternation and confusion.

Was their Lord's odd behaviour a good or a bad sign?

It seemed an eternity before he relaxed and a slow smile spread across his features, his eyes reduced to narrow crimson slits. His lips parted, his voice more rasping than it usually was. 

"It is almost time." He breathed.

Those four simple words hung in the air.

Bemused looks were exchanged. It went without saying that the Death Eaters weren't exactly playing with a full deck.

Malfoy, seen as the leader of the Death Eaters, stepped forward cautiously, having just returned from searching the grounds for the missing Weasley. "Almost time for what, my Lord?"

Voldemort's smile was chilling and he looked almost like he was intoxicated on some level. "For the end of all things weak and unworthy." He answered blissfully. A sigh slithered past his lips. "When he opens the portal..." A near-orgasmic groan escaped the Dark Lord. "Yessssss...soon...very sssssoon."

Malfoy's posture suggested he wanted to ask more, to know what on earth was going on, but - wisely - he stepped back into the circle, shrugging helplessly at his fellow Death Eaters, as Voldemort's head rolled back, a maniacal smile still on his lips.

"Tell me, Lucius, did you find Weasley?"

"Yes, my Lord," He went down on one knee and handed Voldemort the piece of parchment. "He hung himself out in the glades." Voldemort smirked slightly, his hand crushing the piece of parchment. 

"How very noble of him." He remarked. "And Snape is taking care of the girl's body. It appears that all my little problems are clearing themselves up, in preparation for my ascension."

"Ascension?"

"We will move out in a matter of minutes, Lucius." The Dark Lord murmured. "It is time for war."

***

"A-Alex?"

On his way out the front door, Alexander turned to his mother, his expression stony, his arm held up against his chest defensively, the other holding his rucksack on his shoulder. "I have to go out, mom." He said, his eyes red-rimmed.

"What happened?" She asked shakily, her eyes on his arm, which was in a cast.

Alexander looked down at the arm, then back at his mother's face. "A gang broke into the school when we were studying there last night." He explained grimly, his voice hoarse with tears. 

"Is...are all your friends all right?"

Alexander shook his head, the grief radiating from him palpable. "Buffy's friend... she died. Giles got taken by them..." Cassandra's hand rose to her mouth. "And Willow...she got hurt real bad. Some of the stacks fell on her..." Tears blurred in his eyes. "She-she might not make it."

"Oh God...Alex..."

He lowered his head to hide the tears on his cheeks. "I-I need to go."

"Was it more of Buffy's ex-boyfriend's friends?" Cassandra asked unsteadily, halting his progress towards the door.

Her son nodded, his expression turning to one of malevolence. "Why'd he have to come along and ruin everything?" He demanded savagely. "She would have been fine if it wasn't for him!"

"Sometimes things just happen that way." Cassandra murmured, hugging herself. 

"I-I need to go and help Buffy, mom. She's not doing so great..."

The witch nodded. "I know how she feels." She said quietly. "Alex?" He looked at her expectantly. "Take care of her. Do what you can." Unable to reply, Alexander merely nodded and turned and walked out the front door.

***

THE BOY WHO LIVED IS DEAD

- Reported by Wanda Wava

Rumours abound today in the wizarding world with the second fall of You-Know-Who in twenty years. 

The Dark Wizard - he who must not be name (71) - lead an army of Death Eaters, his bizarrely-named collective of minions, many of whom have a knack of remaining anonymous, in an epic battle, in which many wizards and witches were killed.

The death toll is still rising by the hour (for regular updates on this and other news, tune into the WWN), many falling on both sides. Muggle casualties and fatalities are also expected.

While it is unclear what exactly it was that came to pass, it is a known fact that You-Know-Who was reduced to a shell of his former self, due to a dramatic sacrifice from the Boy Who Lived and was contained by several Aurors. 

Harry Potter (18) gave his own life to save the lives of friends Ronald Weasley (18), youngest son of the late Arthur Weasley, and Hermione Granger (18), both classmates from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry.

His death, it is rumoured, served the same purpose as his mother's, when he earned his title as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' in his infancy. While these rumours are denied by some sources, several witnesses state that when You-Know-Who turned his wand on the friends of the boy who lived, the curse failed.

Eye-witness Sirius Black (39), formerly believed to be a Death Eater and the only escapee in Azkaban's History, but cleared by his activity in the battle, states "Harry knew what he was doing. He told V******** to kill him, instead of Ron and Hermione... he was a damn good kid. He didn't deserve it. His parents would have been proud of him."

While Granger and Weasley both refused to give statements, it is clear that they are both in shock over the death of their school friend. Mr. Weasley has been forced to deal with this fatal blow, following a succession of family tragedies, including the deaths of both father and a brother, Percival (22). A sister, Virginia Weasley (17), is still unaccounted for.

Meanwhile, the Ministry is in a furore about what must be done. Remus Lupin, a known werewolf and former Professor of Hogwarts, believes that Voldemort must be left alive, but imprisoned to pay for his crimes. However, many Aurors believe it is their duty to destroy him, after all he has done.

Unfortunately, he has proved to be a rather difficult enemy to defeat in the past.

What will happen to You-Know-Who and his surviving followers is undecided as yet. However, with the reinstatement of the Dementors at Azkaban, it is believed that the Prison will once again serve as a holding ground for Death Eaters and possibly even You-Know-Who himself. 

For now though the wizarding world, while mourning it's losses, is celebrating the downfall of the most powerful Dark Lord that has ever lived and we hope that - this time - he will stay down. 

For more on this story, see pages. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13...etc


	14. Chapter 14: The Losses

A few days after chapter 13

Notes: Since I've passed the major, fun, character-massacring chapters, I was sure I would slow down the pace with writing this story and start working more on my stuff for university - unfortunately, that plan didn't exactly...work. I have so many ideas for the next seven chapters, it's ridiculous. 

And yes, people, Xander will features more - the first thirteen chapters were just scene setting...well, kind of... Either way, Xander is going to have to find out about his heritage at some point and surely you didn't think I would let Cassie have it that easy ;) C'mon, people! I character-torture for fun! There are seven chapters left! This is just the beginning! :-D I feel an evil cackle coming on!

Muahahahaha!

Ah, I feel better now.

There's also a small scene that I shoved in here inspired by a scene from 'Phantom', the Susan Kay novel about Phantom of the Opera, which I took off on my own mad tangent. This story...man, its taking on a life of it's own...

And, just before anyone starts jumping on me and pummeling me, I don't have any particular ship here and I know that someone is bound not to like what I'm doing. If that is the case, tuff-titties. This is simply the way the story is going, so I write it as I see it and nothing more.

Thanks, again, to all the lovely reviewer types! Hopefully, I'll still manage to spring a surprise or two on you before I finish this baby - if not, I really have to consider changing my choice of career!

Also, not mine. Nothing is mine. Except the oddness, death, murders, massacres and general nasties. Boo hoo. I still poor and impoverished and waiting on my Chinese to be delivered...food. Food good. 

And on to the fic...

_____________________________

Chapter Fourteen - The Losses

There were only a few of them there.

Had word spread, it would probably have been the most attended funeral in the history of the wizarding world, but word hadn't spread and only the closest of friends were in attendance.

It was a grey day, the sky overcast and dull, sunlight barely even visible as a smirr of light behind the clouds. A stiff wind occasionally hit them, but they remained where they were.

Ronald Weasley, brown eyes dry of tears simply because he had none left, stood to the right of Hermione Granger, who now bore a scar on her left temple similar to that which had made the friend they were burying so famous. 

Her small hand was held in Ron's larger one, neither of them speaking, as they sadly watched the coffin disappear into the maw in the ground. 

A short way away from them, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin stood, accompanied by Professor McGonagall, all of them garbed in robes of black, still bearing the looks of exhaustion and grief that marked the faces of so many wizards and witches who had been involved in the battle.

A brief, emotional eulogy was given for the Boy Who Lived by Sirius Black, as the famous Harry Potter was finally laid to rest, barely a stone's throw from the grave of his own parents.

It was short.

Not because there was a lack of things to say about Harry, but because so many had died, it caused grief to linger over every single friend and relative who had been lost in the struggle.

For his part, Ron was relieved that it was over quickly.

Just over a week previously, he, his mother and his brothers had attended the funeral of Arthur Weasley, something which had completely drained him of energy and his capacity for reason and emotion.

When word came in, from some source who had contacted Professor Flitwick about a surge in darkness, and they were told that war was coming, he truly hadn't cared.

Nothing had seemed to matter in that moment.

All he had known was that his beloved father, his daddy, had gone away forever and wasn't coming back. Now, he was lying in a box, never to be seen again, never to get a chance to play with his grandkids or see his children marry...

It had been Hermione and Harry that had brought home that reality to him.

The one who had murdered Harry's own parents, the one who had kidnapped and tormented his baby sister, the one who had been instrumental in his father's death was about to try and wipe out the wizarding world as they knew it.

Despite the numb grief he had felt, the lingering ache in his heart, he had risen to the task at hand, joining his two friends to stand with the remaining teachers and any of the witches and wizards who were brave enough to fight with them.

Then, Percy's body had been deposited on the step at the back door of The Burrow, his face bloated, eyes bulging out of the sockets, almost beyond recognition. If it hadn't been for the shock of red hair...

Bill had wanted to burn his body on a bonfire in the back garden, or pitch him off a cliff, or something, anything, that would prevent the traitor from being buried with the rest of their ancestors.

That had caused even more emotional upheaval.

With emotions running high already, Charlie's statement that - no matter what he had done - Percy was still a Weasley had earned him a punch in the face from Bill, who had immediately received a slap from their mother.

If anything, that hadn't helped.

His family, already torn apart by the deaths of several members, fighting amongst themselves had made Ron want to run back to his nice, safe four-poster and curled under the blankets until everything went away. 

That's where Hermione had found him.

She had just wrapped her arms around him, her hot cheek pressed against his neck and he hadn't been able to stand it for a moment longer, his face screwing up, as he tried to hold in all the pain and misery that had been building up in him for days.

To his surprise, when he started to cry, snot, tears and everything streaming down his face and making a right mess of Hermione's blouse, she hadn't complained or got annoyed, but just rocked him and held him tight, just as he needed her to.

Afterwards, she had sat back from him, pulled a wad of tissues out of her sleeve and gently wiped his cheeks dry, giving him the little smile she always did when she half-proud of, half-exasperated with him and Harry, but this time, with so much affection, he had been stunned. 

That was the minute that he knew that he loved her, something that made him both confused, scared and determined.

He hadn't said anything to Harry about this revelation, but when they were fighting, side-by-side, and Harry has seen Voldemort coming towards them, he had turned to Ron and urgently whispered. "Take care of Hermione."

That was the last thing Ron had heard him say, before Harry had broken into a run towards Voldemort's upraised wand, yelling for the Dark Lord to kill him, instead of Ron or Hermione.

Now, as they stood by the graveside, their fingers interlocked, Ron glanced at her, unsurprised to see tears trickling quietly down her pale face, her long hair pulled back in a severe bun.

"C'mon, Hermione." He murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, smiling sadly as she curled in against his chest. He could almost picture Harry rolling his eyes at them. "Let's go home."

Nodding, she let him direct her around and, arms around each other, they started to walk towards the gate of the cemetery.

***

Amber liquid glinted in a small glass.

"Here's to us! Long may we be bloody amazing!" Ethan laughed aloud as Cassandra threw her head back to down another shot of expensive whisky and fell straight off the edge of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. "Ow."

"All right, luv?" Crawling unsteadily to the edge of the bed, he offered her a hand, which it took her several attempts to actually grab.

"My arse hurts." She complained to him, climbing back onto the bed and sprawling out on the bed beside her long-term lover. "Why do I always hurt my arse when we're celebrating anything?"

"Because you're a kinky little tinker?" Lying on his back, his right hand behind his head, he raised his left hand and tapped the tip of her nose with a smile. Cassandra returned the smile, cuddling against him, folding her arms on his chest.

"He's gone..." Her chin resting on her crossed arms, her eyes closed, she released a genuine sigh of relief. "Alex is finally safe."

Ethan snickered. "You live on an active Hellmouth, where a psychotic vampire just tried to open a demon portal that would have destroyed the world and regular demon-type things happen every day of the week and you say he's safe?" 

A hand swatted his chest. "Pedantic git." She mumbled, struggling to kneel back up on the blankets beside him. "Oh! And I had to tell you something about the... oh... whatsername?" Flapping her hands urgently, Cassandra looked like she was searching her slightly inebriated memory. "Little one...blonde... kills demons and...Buffy! The Slayer person!"

"What of her?" Leaning up on his arms, Ethan couldn't help smiling as she slapped her forehead, looking genuinely adorable. Without the threat of Voldemort hunting her down, she had finally managed to relax for the first time in eighteen years.

"Gone!" She threw her hands up. "Alex says she went to try and sort things out with her ex and no one has seen her since then." Leaning forward, swaying slightly, she added conspiratorially. "She's the one that killed Angelus...stopped him."

"Just in the nick of time as well." Ethan nodded. "I let Flitwick know something was up, so they knew Vollie would be trying something. I'm guessing that they managed to get to him when the portal was closed."

Cassandra's face sobered slightly. "D'you know if they found little Ginny?" Her lover's green eyes closed and he turned his face away from her. "Oh." Her lower lip trembled. "B-but that doesn't mean she's...dead, does it?"

Sitting up, Ethan grasped her shoulders, trying to start to speak several times. When the words finally came, they were shaking. "Cass, this is Voldemort. When a witch disappeared because of him, how often do you remember them coming back?"

"But Ginny..."

"Cass..."

"NO!" Her fists hit his chest. "Ethan, she can't be dead! If she was killed, why haven't they found her body? You know how much Voldemort liked to have family members find the bodies!"

"Cass..." Her fists continued to pound against his chest, the blows growing weaker as Cassandra started to sob in misery, grief and frustration. Ethan patiently waited and gathered her in his arms. "I know, luv, I know."

"I-I really hoped, Ethan..." She sobbed, her shaking fingers gripping his shirt. "I hoped she'd get out all right..." Nodding against the top of her head, he continued to silently hold her as she wept in his arms.

***

A fire was crackling in the grate, the pale yellow and orange flames spreading odd illusions of light and shadow up the bare brick walls of the basement, illuminating the single slouched figure seated in the chair in front of the hearth.

Still clad in his formal robes, Snape gazed into the flickering flames, his elbows propped on the high, padded arms of the ancient chair which were looking worn from use, his folded hands pressing against his chin.

It still struck him as strange that he was back in this hidden place, his own home.

Most people wouldn't class it as a home, but it was all he had known, all he was comfortable in.

His whole life was enclosed in two small rooms.

Where he currently sat, brooding in front of the small fire, the fireplace occupied the centre of one wall, wide enough for two people to share it's warmth, but he had never bothered to test that figure.

A blackened kettle stood on a shelf to one side of the grate, along with a couple of pans and all the dishes he possessed, seldom used. They tended to get pushed to one side, his cauldrons and bottles for potions taking more priority. 

There was a rather threadbare and singed brown rug just in front of the fireplace, on the stone floor, but the rest of the floor was bare, impeccably tidy, with a few stacks of paper lined neatly up against the shelves.

Against the opposite wall, in the corner his double bed stood, his single luxury. With a dark oak bedstead and heavy, dark blankets, he knew it looked like it was taken out of a frightening Gothic children's story, if such a thing existed.

Every other area of wall space was lined with broad, deep shelves, most of which he had heaped with either books and tomes about potions, or with the substances he used to make potions that featured in said books.

Between two large bookshelves on the wall to his left, a door opened into the small, sterile white bathroom, the only other room in the basement he called home, a white bath, the deep, four-footed metal ones taking up half of the floor space.

He had not left this sanctuary of his, the one place he chose to reside, aside from Hogwarts and the one that no one but Dumbledore had known of, since the day that Voldemort had told him to take the body of Virginia Weasley to her family home.

He had, of course, done no such thing.

His black eyes focused on the dancing blue heart of the flames wavering in the grate, the crackling of the burning wood the only thing he was aware of. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the dusty clock on top of the mantle.

Shifting in his chair, his eyes growing heavy, he felt his lips rising slightly as the small clock started it's quiet chiming.

It was time.

Behind him, he heard a feeble moan and rose, hurrying across to the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. 

Using his wand to light the tarnished brass lantern that hung on a hook above the bed, he gazed down at the girl, hoping he hadn't overdone the dosage of the Draught of Living Death.

"Child?" 

Ginny Weasley's eyes fluttered weakly for several seconds, before opening, the light making her blink, squinting up at him, her pupils huge. The corners of her lips moved in a way that suggested she was trying to smile, but lacked the strength to do so. 

"Can you hear me?" Her chin dipped down a millimetre. "And see me?" Again, she nodded a little. One of his hands took hers. "Can you feel that?" Once more, her chin dipped, her eyes sinking closed. "Child, listen to me," His other hand rose, touching her cheek. "You have been lying in this state for several days..." The tip of her nose wrinkled slightly, making him chuckle. "I don't want to embarrass you, but if you want, I could bathe you."

"I..." Her shaking voice was barely a breath, her lips barely parting to let the words slip passed. "Smell..."

Snape smiled, his thumb brushing across her cheek softly. "Well, I didn't want to be the one to say anything but..." He saw the tip of her tongue trying to poke between her lips at him and knew that she was going to survive. "Wait here, child."

Rising, he went into the bathroom, turning on the lion's head-shaped taps, the deep tub filling quickly. Chewing on his lower lip, he paused before adding a spurt of bubbles from his wand into the steaming water, if only to shield the girl's modesty.

Ginny hadn't moved when he returned to the bedside, which didn't surprise him. 

To convince the Death Eaters that she really was dead, which would hardly have been surprising considering the condition she was in when he had reached her, it had taken a larger dose than usual of the powerful sleeping potion and he fervently hoped that she wouldn't suffer any unpleasant side-effects.

He pulled the thick blankets back from her emaciated form, his arms sliding beneath her legs and back, easily lifting her up against his chest, her worn body as light as a feather, drowned in one of his nightshirts.

With her weary head resting against his shoulder, he made his way through to the bathroom, the warm flutters of her breath against his neck the most comforting thing he had felt in months.

Kneeling down on the white-tile floor, Snape unfastened the three buttons at the collar of the shirt, sliding it from her body and over her head. Reaching over the side of the bathtub, he checked the water wasn't too hot before removing his outer robes and lifting the girl's thin body into the bath.

Much to his surprise, he didn't feel as uncomfortable as he knew he should as he gently let the water splash over her bare skin. Nor did the girl, her tired eyes telling him that she trusted him implicitly.

Taking in her body, he wanted to weep for the condition the child was in.

Yes, he had kept her drugged for several days, to allow her body to recover from the injuries sustained without her suffering, but before that, from her time in captivity, she was barely a husk of her former self.

With every laboured breath that she took, Severus could see her ribs ridging against her pale skin, her arms and legs frighteningly thin and fragile-looking. Her small breasts had shrunk as she had starved, leaving her wasted.

Her once-pretty face told the same story. 

She was whiter than usual, still recovering from the vast amount of blood she had lost only days before, her cheeks deep hollows where the weight had shrunk from her in the final days of her imprisonment, dark smudges beneath her brown eyes.

A sigh escaped Ginny's lips, as Snape gently helped her to lie back in the water, the luxuriously hot fluid rippling up to her neck, making her skin tingle in a very pleasant way, her long hair floating around her.

Picking up a rough sponge that was bobbing heavily in the water, Severus gently started to sponge the girl's thin face and neck, Ginny managing to make her lips smile up at him as he did so.

A short while later, her tangled hair washed, her body clean, Ginny was lifted out of the bath and wrapped in a coarse towel, Snape muttering apologies to her as he dried her, the fabric warming her as much as the water had.

Had she been able to, she would have told him so, but - exhausted - she simply let him dry her thin body, carrying her back to the bed, where he tenderly dressed her in a fresh nightshirt and brushed out her hair.

Placed back onto the springy mattress, against thick, soft pillows, fresh sheets tucked up to her chest and covered over with a warm blanket, Ginny tried to form words of gratitude, but her lips refused to co-operate.

"Just rest for now, child." Severus said quietly, as he helped her to drink a little cool water from a goblet. She nodded weakly, letting her head fall back against the pillow, her eyes unbearably heavy.

She felt his fingers gently brushing loose strands of hair back from her face as sleep took her.

***

The tone around the dinner table was sombre.

The normally-crowded table seemed so much emptier than usual, even though only three of their number were absent. The men at the table were trying to be civil to one another, the other three shifting uncomfortably.

At the head of the table, Molly Weasley absently pushed a piece of meat around her plate with her fork, oblivious to the tension radiating from her remaining sons. She barely ate anymore, her eyes no longer shining with the energy she always had.

Like her husband was, her eyes were dead.

"Hermione and me went back to Hogwarts the other day, mum." Ron tried to start a conversation. "They think the school'll be ready for a new bunch of kids by the time September comes, since You-Know-Who is gone again."

"Mmm."

"What about the pupils who were taken home? Will they redo years?" Charlie asked quietly. 

He didn't look up as he spoke, his right eye still dark and swollen, thanks to his elder brother's fist which had bashed him for the second time in as many months, when Charlie had carefully broached the subject of telling the Ministry about Percy's change of sides.

"McGonagall thinks so." Ron nodded, poking a piece of potato. "Hermione and me have been offered a chance to do seventh year again, if we want to do it properly, but I don't think it'll be the same without..." He trailed off.

"How's Hermione coping?" Fred asked, much to Ron's surprise. The twins weren't particularly attached to the muggle-born witch, but - it seemed - that Voldemort had done something useful and brought the wizarding community closer together.

Rubbing his eyes, Ron shrugged and sighed. "It's hard to say. She doesn't like to cry and she keeps going for that stiff-upper-lip thing, then breaking down." His gaze went to his plate. "She misses him. I do too."

"Did you ever get the chance to tell Harry about you and her?" Charlie spoke up.

Once again, Ron was stunned by the astuteness of his quiet elder brother. No one else in the family had noticed that he and Hermione were seeing each other. "I-I think he knew, somehow. He told me to take care of her, just before he...you know..." He answered, his voice shaking slightly.

"What's this about you and Hermione?" Molly's voice made the five men look around in surprise.

Ron blushed to the roots of his hair. "We're...um...we've kind of become a bit of an item." He answered, scarlet, looking up at his mother. "We...I know it's quick, but we... we were thinking about getting hitched."

For the first time in weeks, Molly smiled. It wasn't much more than a tiny shift outwards of her lips, but it was more than anything they had seen, since Arthur had died. "That's wonderful news."

"I didn't want to say anything before...since it's so soon after everything..."

Molly raised a hand to silence him. "Ron," She said. "I think this is just the kind of thing we need to hear." She sighed. "After all, if something good comes out of this...I might have a daughter-in-law..."

"You haven't gone and knocked little Hermione up, have you?" George put in with a dirty leer. "That's why you're getting married so quick, isn't it?"

"George! No!" There was a pause. "Not yet." Even Bill chuckled at the embarrassed look on Ron's face, when he realised what he had said. "I think Hermione'll want to do more study first."

"Well, that's a given." Fred snickered.

"You don't mind, mum?"

Molly's smile widened a little. It did little to disguise the sorrow in her eyes, but her sons knew it was a start and that they had to take things slowly. "The sooner the better, I think, Ron." She looked down at her plate, then up at him. "And what's this about grandchildren for me?"

"Mum!"

***

Meanwhile, in Snape's hidden home, the only Weasley daughter was still sharing a sanctuary with one of the Dark lord's former unfortunate minions.

Her strength was gradually returning, thanks to potions he had brewed for her, but until she had been able to regain the energy to walk again, he had done everything for her: carrying her to and from the small bathroom, feeding her by hand when she was too weak to lift her food, soothing her when she woke in the grip of a nightmare.

Despite the dark gloom of the underground home, she somehow felt safe, knowing that Severus was there with her and that he would protect her from anything outside their hiding place.

He had started to relax around her as well, no longer wearing his stiff, formal robes, choosing to don slightly more comfortable black trousers and a black shirt that was oddly Gothic in fashion.

It looked strangely right on him, she noticed, as she looked up at him.

As they did every evening - which she could only tell because of the clock seated on the mantle - she was sitting on a cushion at his feet, in front of the fire, leaning on his thigh, as he read one of his potions books, neither of them needing to speak.

The fire was warming and comforting and cast a strangely kind glow over Snape's angular features.

Ginny looked up at him again, briefly wondering how she could ever have been truly intimidated by him. Yes, when he did display his ice-cold anger, he could prove to be spectacularly frightening.

However, now, she could see him as something else.

When he was in the security of his home, at peace, safe, he so very different. 

Even the way he had cared for her as she recovered, so gentle and patient, never pushing her to do something she couldn't, never getting frustrated or angry when she had broken down, and she had found herself fascinated by it.

His silken voice, his reassuring words, when she had woken from nightmares had soothed her. He had let her cry as often as she needed to, always there at the moment she cried out in pain or fear, holding her and soothing her.

Watching him now, she took in every millimetre of his face, the flicker of the flames warming his pale skin, his right elbow propped on the arm of the chair, his cheek resting against it as he read.

Every line of his face spoke of an intense focus and confident, calm knowledge, his passion for the things he cared about marked in his features, especially as he read of them, as he did now. 

The corners of his lips were lifted slightly in a small smile, as he skimmed through the book, glancing briefly towards her, apparently surprised to find her watching him so intently.

"Child?" He laid the book down in his lap.

"Hmm?" She continued to gaze up at him, her chin resting on her folded arms, which lay on his left thigh.

"Why are you watching me?" She shrugged, sighing a little as his hand came out and gently stroked her hair. He studied her for a moment, deliberating over something, then delicately began. "Child..."

"No."

"You don't know what I was going to ask, child."

Brown eyes dipped down. "Yes, I do." She whispered. "I can't go back. Not yet."

Closing the book over, Severus placed it down on the floor, then returned his hand to her face, cradling her left cheek gently, his thumb stroking her still-pale skin. "Child, they are your family. They deserve to know."

A single, hot tear leaked from her eye and rolled down her cheek, splashing against his fingers.

"Oh, child..." He offered his hand, her smaller one slipping into it immediately, and he helped her to her feet, drawing her down to sit in his lap. With a quiet sob, Ginny curled against him, pulling her legs up, letting him enclose her in his arms.

Her arms wrapped around his neck tightly, as the raw sobs came - for the hundredth time - her face buried in his the crook of his neck, burning tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

Murmuring to her in that soothing voice she had become so familiar with - for all she knew he was be reciting potion formulas to her, his voice so low and gentle - she felt her sobs receding and sniffed hard as he continued to stroke her hair and back.

"I can't face them. N-not now." She whispered miserably, staring up at him, as he tenderly smoothed the tears from her cheeks. "L-l-look at what I did..."

"You did what anyone else in the same position would do, child." He said, nodding in affirmation, when she started to shake her head. "Believe me. I have witnessed it many times, but none were so brave."

Gulping down another sob, Ginny blinked at him. "St-stupid, you mean." Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears. "A-and I-I-I let him g-g-get me pregnant...the wizard who m-m-made me k-kill my own father..." One shaking hand spread on her concave stomach. "H-he couldn't do that by f-force...I l-let it happen." 

"You had a lot on your mind, child." His hand came down to cover hers. "You can not be held responsible." Her face bowed, Ginny's silent tears splashed down onto his hand, where it covered her smaller one. 

"I-I really wanted it to die..." She whispered, her voice shaking. Severus' brows wrinkled. He had not heard her speak of her pregnancy, even when she recovered. All she had asked was that it was gone. "I-I didn't hate it...but...I..." She looked up at him, shame etched on her face. "I-I remembered Cassandra...what she has had to do with h-her son...I didn't want to hide a child like that...didn't want to live in fear...in case they tried to take it away...make it like him...use it..." She drew several sharp breaths, her voice tight and trembling with emotion. "I-I...I think I would have loved it...it was mine..." Her fingers dug into her belly, through the material of the shirt she wore. "A-and now...its gone..." A soft whimper escaped her. "How can I be a decent h-human being, when I wanted rid of it? How...how can I be any kind of good person, when I-I wanted my own baby to die?"

Severus didn't know what to say, his eyes clouded with pity, his lips parting with the intention of forming words, but no sound escaped from him.

Wrapping his arms around her, her body curled so closely to his that they could barely be identified as two separate beings, he just held her and let her cry silently for the child she had lost.

***

"Where'd'you think she is?"

Sitting in the empty library, scanning through books of demons, Willow looked up at Alexander. "Huh?"

"Buffy." The dark-haired youth flopped down in a vacant seat opposite his long-time friend, glancing at the cage that held the red-head's wolfish boyfriend. "Where'd'you think she is?"

"I-I don't know." Finally out of the wheelchair that she had been left in, after the library had come under attack, Willow had run straight back into her research role as soon as she was able. Her brows wrinkled. "Do...you...you don't think she might be... you know...kinda...dead?"

"I-I..." Alexander thought about it for a few minutes, then shook his head in a negative. "No way. This is Buffy we're talking about. She's probably just taking a few days time out and she'll be back and slay-happy before you know it!"

"You think so?" Willow raised her eyebrows, sounding deeply sceptical.

"Hey, would I lie?" He gave her his most confident broad smile, raising a small smile in return from the red-haired girl. Inside, though, he knew he wasn't nearly as confident as he sounded.

When Willow bent back over the books she was reading, researching the latest Hell-critter to be loosed on the world, Alexander's mask of calm and confidence slipped, his eyes closing.

Something in his gut told him that Buffy, his friend and one of the few people that he truly cared about, was hurt, if not physically, then emotionally, and the thing that made that feeling worse was knowing he could do nothing to help.

She had fled and he could only assume that it was something to do with Willow doing the spell. 

As he had dragged Giles out of the mansion, catching a glimpse of Buffy fighting against Angelus, he had wished with all his might that the spell would work, wishing for some small part of him - the magic he had always longed to have - to help Willow, even if he was utterly useless in the magic department.

At that thought, a pang of guilt struck him.

He should have told Buffy Willow was going to try the spell again, but something told him, that same little voice of intuition, that - had she known - she wouldn't have fought as hard as she did.

If she had known her hunny might be returning, she would have been careful, in case she hurt him.

Knowing she was fighting Angelus, not Angel, made her stronger and Alexander had had the uncanny feeling that Buffy's battle against Angelus was more important that just closing Acathla and preventing the suckage of the Western Seaboard into Hell.

Sometimes, he wanted to kick his crappy intuition's ass. 

Thanks to it, he had made some bad decisions, like going after Buffy in the sewers to help find Jesse almost two years previously or every night when he went out on patrol with her since then, but still, they panned out in the end and things would turn out all right...usually.

Except this time.

Buffy was gone.

She might even be dead in a ditch for all he knew. Yes, his intuition - he was really beginning to hate it - told him that Buffy was alive, but it didn't exactly reassure him when she had vanished out of the wonderful world of Sunnydale.

Turning his attention back to the library and to Willow, who was thumbing through a heavy book, he forced a chipper note back into his voice. "So, what's the big bad now that the Toothy wonder is gone?"

"Xander..." Willow chastised affectionately. 

"I know, I know, he was Buffy's snugglevamp, but he's gone now." He clapped his hands together in a show of mock enthusiasm. "So, c'mon, Will, hit me! What are we dealing with and how fast do I have to run to get away from it?"

"Dear Lord..." Giles groaned, from his position behind the desk.

***

"I sent your brother, Ronald, an owl." Hanging up his travelling cloak, Snape looked across the room as his companion. "I informed him of the current situation and told him that you'll see them when you feel you are ready."

Ginny made no reply, sitting in the chair in front of the fire, gazing at the flames. It didn't take a genius to work that she was crying again.

Severus Snape approached the chair, his hands coming to rest on the top of the back and he looked down at her. She didn't even seem aware of him, her hands twisting a piece of string into a knot, then undoing it again.

Almost three months had passed since Voldemort had been defeated once again and, every day since then, she had wept at least once or twice, sometimes coming to him and curling against him, sometimes just remaining alone.

"Child?" It got no response. "Miss Weasley?" Again, nothing. "Virginia." It was the first time he had used her full forename.

"Don't call me that." She said quietly.

"It is your name, child."

The girl slid out of the seat, standing and turning around to look up at him. In spite of the tears shining on her face, she looked a good deal better than she had when he had first brought her to his home.

Once more, she was wearing one of his baggy, black shirts, which was large on him and simply enormous on her fragile form. Even buttoned to the top of the high collar, the length of her throat was bared. It hung past her knees and her hands were hidden by the long sleeves.

Her body had filled out again and - while still thin - she looked so much healthier.

"It doesn't fit me." She said, her voice low.

"What?"

"That name. Virginia." She looked down at the floor, at her feet which were clad in an oversized pair of woollen socks. Edging past him, she made her way towards the bed. "I'm not one anymore. I don't want the name. I'm just Ginny."

He watched her, bemused, as she climbed onto the bed, sitting down cross-legged, in the middle of the mattress, smoothing the fabric of the large shirt she was wearing over her knees.

"Child..."

Her brown eyes looked up at him as he approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of it, as he had done so many times. "Why do you call me that?" She asked softly, as he brought a hand up to cradle her cheek.

Her words made him start.

Why DID he call her that?

And he knew he didn't even have to answer his own question.

He started to pull his hand back from her sharply, but her small hand caught it, gripping it between her two smaller ones. "Please." She said, not looking away from his black eyes. "Why?"

"Child...Miss Weasley..." Shifting, he tried to rise, but she held onto him. With a cry of anger, he pulled free and stood up, stalking across to the fireplace and spreading his hands on the mantle. "Don't ask me that."

He heard the creak of the bed, then her padded feet crossing the floor. "But I want to know." She said.

"And I said don't ask me, child!" He spun to face her, frustrated, confused and a little angry, the girl backing up at the expression on his face. The hurt and fear he saw in her eyes made his heart break and he reached out, gently laying his hands on her shoulders. "Child, I'm sorry..."

Her brown eyes moved to the hands on her shoulders, then back to his face. "I just want to know why." She said, her voice shaking.

"Because..." He looked away from her face. No. He couldn't, wouldn't, say it aloud, not to her or to anyone else. He would shame her, shatter her trust in him. He would frighten her even more. "Child...I can't..."

One of her small hands touched his cheek, making him start. Her touch was soft and she lifted his chin to make him look at her, meeting those brown eyes. "Please, tell me." She whispered.

Clenching his teeth together, he bowed his head again, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "I..." His voice sounded rougher than it usually did. "Its because I want to remind myself that you are a child, a pupil...and I am your teacher."

"Not anymore." She said sadly, her fingertips soft against his skin. "I haven't been a child since I was delivered to him." Her hand slid into his hair and she pulled him down to her, kissing him.

Snape jerked back from her, shaking his head, steering her away from him, his hands on her shoulders. "Child..." He pleaded. "Don't tempt me. You're still a pupil and I am still a teacher..."

"Not today, Severus." She easily pushed his hands from her shoulders and stepped in front of him, her hands spreading on his chest. "Today, we are only the survivors."

Rising up on her sock-clad toes, she cupped his face between her hands and touched her lips to his.

Severus' hands seemed to rise of their own accord, settling on Ginny's hips and drawing her closer. The brief brush of their lips became something more as she kissed him again, timidly.

He had to be imagining it.

He had to be.

This couldn't possibly be happening.

It had finally happened.

He had gone insane. He must have, to be imagining something as wonderfully mad as this.

The tip of a warm tongue brushed against his, making him shudder with pleasure, the warm female body that was pressed against him suggesting that he was anything but imagining this.

He felt one of Ginny's dainty hands slide over his shoulders, tangling into his hair, as she moaned against his lips. One of his own hands slid down her body, slipping beneath the shirt she was wearing, her thigh soft against his palm.

Breaking out of the kiss, he stared down at the girl in his arms, stunned. What the Hell was he doing? Did he want to damage her more than she already was? Did he want to ruin her?

Stepping back from him, Ginny - smiling shyly, her cheeks rosy - looked up at him from beneath pale brown lashes which, he had noticed several weeks earlier, flecked gingery in the right light.

"Severus," Her voice was trembling again, he noticed, jolting when her hand took his - which also happened to be trembling. How very odd - and started to lead him across the floor. "Come with me."

"Child..." He started. "You...you don't have to..."

"I know, Severus." She turned back around to face him, as they reached the bed. Her eyes met his briefly and she smiled, a little shyly, as she started to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I...I love you."

Snape closed his eyes with a groan that was half-despair, half-relief. He shook his head. "You silly child." He whispered, slowly opening his eyes. "You should not have said that."

Her fingers hesitated. "Wh-why?"

Black eyes met brown. "Because, my dear Ginny," He said, one hand coming up behind her head, tangling through her hair, his mouth curving in a genuine smile. "I will simply have to reciprocate."

Then he kissed her, as they sank down onto the bed together.


	15. Chapter 15 : The Lost Ones

Straight after ch. 14 (well, maybe about twenty minutes later... ;))

Notes: Well, well, things really are picking up a bit - I honestly thought it would take me months to reach this chapter and yet, here we are! Within weeks of me restarting work on this series. And, whaddya know, I've started doodles of our new couple! I think I have found my ship :) I so proud...

And, egads, what was a simple scene has developed and Snape now has a past, a reason for joining the Death Eaters and a very nasty set of parents that I really wanna yell at for being so mean to their baby boy! As if him being bullied at school wasn't bad enough...

Also, this is where things will also start to go a bit skew-whiff, to quote a wonderfully British turn of phrase (and can I say for the record how much fun I think English is as a language - so many plays on words, so little time!). Wackiness of the unpleasant kind is about to ensue.

And don't forget that Vollie-darling (I LOVE this guy! What is it with me and bad guys...? Oy...can't resist the buggers.) is still alive, albeit rather small, lumpy and red, but that never stopped him before ;) Everyone seems to think that he's dead, judging by the reviews, but he isn't. He really, really, really isn't ;) 

Man, I love being cryptic and uberevil :D

For the record, I own none of this except the wonderfully meandering storyline :) It happens this way cos I change my mind about exactly what I'm going to do to the characters mid-typing.

For example: Molly was meant to snuff it, along with Bill a couple of chapters back. I changed my mind (Mind you, originally, Ginny didn't survive her suicide attempt in ch. 7, if I recall correctly...Damn her and her wicked ways with Snape...getting all lodged in my head and not budging...) :) I'm being nice for once.

Don't bet on it lasting ;) 

____________________________

Chapter Fifteen - The Lost Ones

"I can't help wondering," Severus murmured to the young woman, who was curled against his side, her flame-haired head pillowed on his shoulder. "What will your mother think of this little arrangement?"

Ginny giggled, a sound that made Snape's heart swell with joy. It was a delight to hear her do something as simple as giggling, after all that she had been through. Even though she was only eighteen years of age, her haunted brown eyes often seemed so much older and sadder than her years should have allowed.

Strangely, it reminded him a good deal of himself at the same age.

"I can imagine." She answered, leaning up to look down at him. "Mum, I'm dating an ex-Death Eater, who was a spy for the Ministry and who is a better shag that You-Know-Who was." 

"A shag?" One eyebrow rose.

Stroking his hair back from his eyes, Ginny smiled. "If you prefer, I could say a bonk."

Raising himself on his elbows, his face barely inches from hers, he claimed a brief kiss. "Child," She gave him a look. "Force of habit...Ginny, I would sincerely prefer to be classed as something a little more eloquent than a 'shag'."

"I'm just teasing you, Severus." Laying along his chest, she pressed her forehead to his, gazing into his eyes. There was an odd emotion in her brown eyes. "I...I didn't know if could be like that."

Aware of her waning mood, Severus lifted a hand to cup her chin. "So I was better than he was?" He cocked his brow again. "And everyone claims that once you've had a dark lord, nothing compares..."

Ginny smiled weakly. "Let's just say that You-Know-Who didn't know very much about You-Know-What." She kissed him again, still touching his face. "I wasn't lying when I said I love you, Severus. You do know that, don't you?" 

"I know." His eyes glinted. "And I was certainly not joking when I did..." His other hand slid between their bodies and Ginny squealed in surprise. "That." Severus ended with a smirk.

"Severus!"

"You like saying my name, don't you?"

Ginny, wriggling away from his hand half-heartedly, ending up straddling his body, her hair tousled around her face. "It's a nice name." A brow rose. "All right, it's a very weird name, but it's your name." Leaning down, she kissed him again. "And that gives me enough reason to like it."

He gazed at her, her knees braced on either side of his ribs, as she pulled the twisted sheet up, around her shoulders and upper body. One hand lazily stroked her thigh, his eyes never leaving her face.

"What?" She finally asked, when she noticed.

"You." She made a sound of bewilderment and he smiled. "You really are a most remarkable creature."

"I...I am?"

"Well," He chuckled as she shifted herself against his body. "If you can tolerate me and my vile nature, you must be verging on the miraculous."

"You're not vile!"

"I beg to differ." 

Ginny swatted him. "Severus." She warned. "If you were vile, I wouldn't be sitting on your...um..." He smirked as she blushed. "Well, I wouldn't be wrapped up in your bed sheets, not minding that you're fondling me under the blankets."

"Like I said, my dear, sweet lady," He said, sitting up to face her, his hand cradling her cheek. "Verging on the miraculous." He kissed her lightly on the mouth. "And truly remarkable."

Her gaze drifted down from his hand, cupping her cheek, to the Dark Mark, still burned into his forearm and, hesitantly, she raised her left hand, bringing it across her body to touch the mark.

"Does...does it hurt?"

He looked at it, as her fingers carefully palpated the slightly raised skin. "Not any longer." He finally answered. "But it will always remain there."

"Always?"

Her lover nodded, lifting her fingers from the mark. "Unless Voldemort succumbs to natural death, I am afraid so." Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingertips. "I would erase it, if I could...if only to prevent you from being touched by any filth left by him...for that reason alone..."

"Severus..." She began.

Black eyes met brown. "Don't try to make excuses for me, Ginny." He said, his voice quiet. "I was a Death Eater. I bear this mark as a reminder of the crimes I have committed. As a reminder of my folly."

Ginny, her voice shaking with emotion, brought his lined brow down to rest against hers, her hand stroking through his hair. "You...you hated yourself, for doing it, didn't you?" She said. "But you wanted to make things right..." 

Snape closed his eyes, wanting to make some kind of answer, but his throat had closed up. He felt tears stinging in his eyes, felt them breaking free, for the first time in so many years, and slipping down his cheeks.

One hand stroking through his tangled hair, Ginny's other arm wrapped around his chest, her other hand spreading between his shoulder blades, their foreheads pressed together as he wept.

Part of him wished he could stop, knowing that he ought to be the comforter, but another part of him was bursting with misery and despair spanning so many years that was finally being allowed to reveal itself.

Much to his surprise, Ginny brought his head down to rest on her shoulder, holding him close to her, whispering reassurances to him, her body pressed flush against his as she continued to murmur soft words and stroke his hair.

Never, not since he had seen his sister die – a six-year-old girl who had just let go of his hand for a minute hit by a fast-moving muggle-vehicle and landing in a crumpled, bloody heap at her fifteen-year-old brother's feet – had he wept.

All of the pain, contained through so many years, seemed to be pouring out of him in one long stream, his sobs soft and harsh, making Ginny hold him all the tighter. He could feel her arms about him, holding him fast, steadfast and comforting.

Why, he wondered, had he been unable to find one like her when he truly needed someone to care for him? When he was blamed for letting his baby sister die? When he was given a chance for revenge on the muggles who had shattered his family?

Had someone held him and let him weep as she was letting him now, he knew that his guilt and anger would have at least had some kind of vent, that he wouldn't have taken up arms against muggles, under the tutelage of Lord Voldemort. 

Voldemort had found him, thanks to Malfoy. He had known all about Severus' little sister. He had known all about the muggles who just walked away from the incident, scot-free. He had known the pain, anger and guilt that the fifteen-year-old felt.

Those dark emotions had been carefully moulded by the Dark Lord: seducing Snape over to the Dark Side with promises of revenge on the muggles and purgation of the guilt he was feeling, which his parents had laid on him for the death of their favoured child, the beautiful sister he had doted on.

He had believed it, believed everything he was told.

Only to find that the illusions of being at peace shattered when he stood over the mutilated bodies, the blood of the muggles cooling on his hands. 

He had tried to stop, he had tried to turn back, but it was too late and he had taken a few years to build up the courage to return to the light side, to reveal his crimes to the Ministry, to be taken under the trusting wing of a former teacher, Professor Albus Dumbledore, while everyone else condemned him.

Another choked sob escaped him and he felt Ginny's own burning tears on his bare shoulder as she clung to him.

"I failed..." He finally whispered against her neck, bringing his chin up to rest on her thin shoulder, leaving her throat hot with his tears. "In spite of everything...I failed Professor Dumbledore... and I failed you..." 

"No..."

"I let them take you...I should have foreseen...should have guessed...it was my fault that they had..." His words were cut off when Ginny touched her fingertips to his lips, shaking her head.

"You were the one thing that kept me sane in there." She said. "I had at least one friend that I could trust." He released a bitter laugh, looking away. "Severus." Black eyes came back to her face. "I trust you. I trusted you there too. You saved me. How can you say you failed?"

"I..."

Her fingertips smothered the protest. "Sh." She said gently, kissing the tracks of his tears on his face. "You did everything you could." Placing a kiss on his jaw, she slid her arms around him, then lightly kissed his throat. "I love you."

"You are quite insane, dear one." He said in rasping response, his throat raw from weeping so copiously, yet, he felt oddly calm after letting at least a little of his self-loathing and grief out.

"Say that again." She murmured against his throat.

"You are quite insane." A small hand slapped his back. "You meant the other part?"

"Mmm."

"Dear one." Lifting her face to him, he brushed the pad of his thumb across her lips, before dipping his head down and kissing her. "My dear one." She moaned against his lips as his hand carded through her hair.

The sheets slipped down from Ginny's shoulders as Snape sank back in the broad bed, taking her with him, her hands running up his chest. Exchanging gentle kisses and caresses, they made love again.

While the first time had been hesitant for both of them, slightly awkward, almost shy, this time was...something that Severus couldn't quite put his finger. 

Lying together as they caught their breath, he could never recall feeling more at peace or closer to anyone as he did, wrapped in Ginny's arms, her warm body pressed intimately against his. 

They lay in silence for a long time, no sound aside from the crackling of the fire on the other side of the room, but it was strangely comfortable, his hands moving in absent circles on her back, as he occasionally placed light kisses on her head.

It was her who broke the silence.

"Severus..." Pressing against his chest, she slid her arms around him, his chin resting on the top of her head. He could feel her heart fluttering and held her closer. "We...I have to go and see my family, don't I?"

"When you are ready, chi...Ginny."

She laughed, a little shakily. "That's really going to take you some getting used to, isn't it?"

"So it seems." He felt her breath escape in a sigh against his bare chest. "Ginny?"

"Would...would you come with me? When I'm ready?"

His callused hand lifted her face to his, brown eyes met by black. "You know you need not ask." He said softly, his thumb brushing along her lower lip. "I will go with you if you feel you need me to be present."

Curling against him again, she whispered. "Thank you."

***

In the small, oddly-modest house, hidden in the middle of nowhere, a young man sat in front of a fire, scanning a text about the dark arts, his wands gripped defensively in his hand.

Outside, the sun was shining, but he didn't care.

All that he knew was that he had seen his father killed, blasted down by the wand of one of the damned Aurors, in the battle which had seen the downfall of his patron, the Dark Lord.

He knew they were looking for him.

Unlike the previous fall of Voldemort, over seventeen years earlier, the Ministry of Magic was doing more than everything to capture all the Death Eaters, their offspring and anyone who might have tampered in the Dark Arts.

But they didn't know where to look.

Pale, grey eyes continued to read the text, dark spells and enchantments all in easy access of the boy, thanks to his father's careful preparation, lest anything happen to him, on his wife, Narcissa's suggestion.

She had been killed too.

Her son had been the one to find her, seconds before her last breath escaped her and he couldn't erase that final image of her from his mind.

She had been caught by falling masonry, due to a badly-aimed Hex from one of the Ministry wizards, which had shattered the wall above her, sending a cascade of white stone down onto the beautiful witch.

Neither the stone nor his mother had remained their true colours when he had found her, sprawled on her back, a slab of bloody marble the size of desk pinning her down, her face torn by slivers of stone.

He had tried to pull her free, desperately using all the spells he could remember to shift the huge pieces of rock and rubble, but he was already too late to save her. Her lower body had been crushed.

Gathering her in his arms, trying not to hurt any more than he had to, he had wiped the blood off her face, but fresh gouts trickled from her lips, her once-perfect hair matted and knotted with dirt and crimson drops.

She hadn't even been aware of his presence, as he wept, holding her close. Her grey eyes were fading, her head lolling back on her shoulders, as he continued to wipe blood from her face with his robes.

"Mother...please..." He remembered whispering, his voice raw with grief. "Please... don't leave me..." His tears had splashed onto her torn face, mingling with the red smears already there. "Please...mother..."

Her slim body had tensed in his arms and he could swear he had felt her soul depart, as she went limp in his embrace. Burying his face in her neck, he had started to sob in earnest. "Mummy...mummy, please...come back...come back..."

Pressing his lips together in a thin line, Draco blinked hard to fight down a wave of angry tears, gritting his teeth as he focused his attention on the book in his lap.

The Dark Lord, he who had claimed to be all-powerful and indestructible had failed them and betrayed them, leading them into a battle they could not win, getting both his parents killed.

Cold, white anger filled Draco Malfoy.

He hated Voldemort, hated him with so much passion it should have frightened him. Should have, but didn't. He hated him for what he had done to the Malfoy family, hated him for being so much more powerful, hated him for being in the way.

How he had longed to be the one to point the wand and shatter the Dark Lord.

Now, though, it was too late.

Lord Voldemort was currently imprisoned deep in the bowels of Azkaban, guarded by Dementors day and night, no doubt thriving on the dark emotions that the ominous guards aroused in everyone.

There was no way that he could even touch Voldemort. 

Not now.

Glancing up at the wall above the mantle, his eyes burned with angry tears as he saw his father and mother's faces looking down at him, his own face - albeit younger and less twisted with malice - smiling.

His parents...

He would gain vengeance for their deaths, vengeance against the Auror, who killed them and - somehow - he would have his revenge on Lord Voldemort, the one who had lead them to their deaths.

It was a child's duty.

A child's...

Slowly, a cold smile spread on his lips.

He knew what he could do.

***

Standing in front of the front door, Ginny stared at the green-painted wood, her hand half-raised to the polished brass knocker. The hand fell, again, for what had to be the fifth time.

"Ginny...?"

"Y-you do it." She whispered hoarsely to her companion.

"I can't." Severus said gently, lifting her hand in his. "You must be ready to face this and I can't be the one to knock." He placed her hand on the knocker. "Remember that they are your family. They love you."

Nodding, her face as white as a sheet, she knocked once, barely audible, then shook her head, backing away. "I-I can't..." She half-sobbed, trying to push past him, to escape down the path.

Behind her, the door opened.

Ginny, shaking from head-to-toe, slowly turned around to come face to face with her mother, who was wiping her hands on a flowery apron. Molly Weasley's mouth fell open, tears welling in her eyes, one hand rising to touch Ginny's face, as if barely daring to believe that she was real.

"M-mummy..."

Molly released a sob. "Oh, Ginny! Ginny!" She pulled her only daughter into her arms and hugged her tightly, crying. "I-I thought I'd lost you too, Ginny...I thought I'd lost you...my baby...my little girl..."

"Mummy, I'm sorry...I..."

"Ginny, it doesn't matter...it wasn't your fault...you couldn't have been braver than you were..." Molly pressed kisses all over her daughter's pale face. "All that matters is that you're alive and you're back..."

Burying her face in her mother's mass of gingery hair, Ginny was sobbing as hard as her mother was. Just short of them, Severus Snape - his hands folded in front of him - watched, smiling slightly.

Drawing back, Molly cupped Ginny's face in her hands, staring up at her, tears still trickling down her cheeks unnoticed. "What happened to you, dear? Where did you go? Are you all right?"

Sniffing hard, Ginny nodded. "S-Severus looked after me, mum...I..." She looked down at her feet, as she spoke. "I got hurt and I...I was sick for a long time...he helped me get better..."

"Sever..." Molly suddenly seemed to notice Snape standing just beyond her child, her eyes going round. "Professor Snape?"

Ginny looked over her shoulder at him, holding out a hand. He stepped alongside her and took her small fingers in his. Molly looked down at their joined hands, then back at their faces.

"M-mum, this is S-Severus..."

Snape managed to make an utterance that sounded strangely like "Whulp!" when Molly grabbed him by the front of his robes and yanked him down to her level and hugged him as tightly as she had her daughter, pressing a kiss to each cheek.

The former Potions Master was scarlet in the face when she released him, and - for once - it wasn't because he was angry.

For the first time in many years, he actually was blushing.

"Thank you." Molly said, taking his free hand between hers, tears of gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you for saving my little girl." She pulled both Ginny and Severus into the hall of The Burrow, in spite of Ginny's whimper. "Come in, both of you. Ginny, your brothers will be so pleased to see you..."

"B-brothers...?" Ginny's face went white. "No...mum...not yet..."

Ginny's protest came too late, her mother shouting up the staircase at the top of her voice. "Bill! Charlie! Fred! George! Ron! Come down!"

"What's up, mum?" Bill appeared at the top of the staircase, freezing when he spotted his sister. Ginny stared back at him, backing into Severus' chest, her breathing growing panicked. "Oh my God..."

"S-Severus..." Ginny whispered, fear etched on her face.

Considering that the last time she had seen one of her brothers, he had almost killed her and, just prior to that, the others had witnessed her committing patricide, Snape could understand why she was terrified of seeing any of them, laying his hands reassuringly on her shoulders.

"Don't be afraid, Ginny." He said softly, squeezing her shoulders through the thick robes she was wearing. "He loves you. Like your mother does."

"Ginny!" Bill leapt down the long, narrow thirty-step staircase in three paces that would have been suicidal to anyone but a Weasley, his booted feet landing inches from hers. He grabbed her shoulders, looking her up and down. "God, it's good to see you!" She was pulled into his arms and he hugged her tightly, his voice soft in her ear. "I'm not letting you go again, sis."

"What's the racket about?" The other four appeared in a knot at the top of the stairs, Ginny obscured by Bill's body, Fred speaking. "It sounded like a Fairy Elephant was bouncing down the stairs..."

Turning slightly, Bill grinned up at them, his arms still around the waif-like figure who was sobbing against his chest, unable to even look at her other brothers. "We've got a little visitor here." He announced.

Somehow, all four Weasley men made it down the steps, en masse, without breaking any limbs or other body parts, congregating around Ginny in the middle of the tiny hallway, the girl laughing and crying as she was passed from hug to hug.

"What took you so long to come back?" Ron demanded, when he finally got her, giving her a shake, then a hug, then another shake. "We thought you were dead! We didn't know where you were! What had happened! Anything!"

"Well I…I'm back now…" She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him. "I-I-I'm sorry...I..." Her sobs overcame her, making her words incomprehensible, Ron hugging her protectively. 

"Mrs Weasley." Standing to the side of the group, Snape turned to Molly, speaking quietly. "May I speak with you privately."

"Of...of course." Looking slightly unnerved by the sinister-looking teacher's civil tone, she looked towards Ginny, who was sitting in Bill's lap, where he was sitting on the stairs. She was crying hard and was being embraced from all sides. 

Not wanting to disturb her children, she motioned for the Potions Master to follow her, leading him through to the empty kitchen and gesturing for him to sit at the scrubbed table.

Once seated, he watched for a moment as she started bustling around the kitchen, making every pretence of tidying up the already spotless room, her hands trembling as she worked.

"Mrs Weasley..."

"T-tell me." She stammered, opening cupboards and withdrawing cups and saucers from them, not looking around at him. The china rattled together as she moved. "Tell me what happened to her."

"Are you certain..."

"Just tell me." There was a core of diamond to her words.

Nodding, unseen, Snape began. "You recall what happened to her the first time he had her?" Molly nodded stiffly. "She resumed that role, her brother's life as forfeit, should she refuse."

"O-oh." The tears were audible in that single syllable.

Looking down at the surface of the pine table, Snape traced his finger around a knot in the wood. "It...it transpired, as you know, that he was the one who...he..." He could not find the words, but she nodded again that she understood. "Your daughter angered him shortly before You-Know-Who fell...before I could spirit her out of there...he struck her...she miscarried the child that she was carrying."

"Oh God..." A cup slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. Her other hand was resting on the worktop, as the one that had been holding the cup came up to press against her mouth, shaking violently, as she tried to smother a sob.

She jumped when thin, bony hands came to rest on her shoulders and she turned sharply to find Snape looking down at her, those foreboding eyes gleaming with pity and simple understanding.

His hands on her shoulders, he forcefully, but gently drew her to him, as he had so often with the daughter, her cheek pressing against his chest as she sobbed, his hands spreading on her back.

"My baby..." She whispered despairingly, her voice anguished. "How could he do that to my baby? My little girl..."

"Your little girl is an incredibly strong woman, Mrs Weasley." He said. "She showed more spirit and pride than any of the others who You-Know-Who held. Had you seen her, you would have been proud of her."

Molly looked up at him, tears trickling down the sides of her nose. "But she's still my baby..." She whispered, bowing her head again. "She'll always be my little one... my little girl..."

She didn't resist as he gently directed her to the table, helping her to sit. Kneeling down beside the chair, he took her hands between his. 

"You're right." He said, in his softest voice. "She will always be your little girl, but now, she needs you to aid her as a woman." He raised on hand to lift her chin, making her look at him. "She lost a child and I cannot be the one to help her understand what she is feeling as a mother. I wish I could, but I do not have the experience."

Sniffing, pulling a handkerchief out of the sleeve of her cardigan, Molly gazed at him as she dabbed her face. "Why are you doing this?" She asked, her voice calmed a little. "You could have just brought her back and left her."

"No," A sad smile reached his lips. "I could never do that."

"You care for her." It was a statement, not a question. 

He nodded, one side of his mouth rising a little. "After spending almost five months with her as my constant companion," He said. "She does tend to grow on you. Even when you try to remain pedantic and aggravating."

"She-she was raised with six aggravating elder brothers."

Snape chuckled, gently lifting a curl of ginger hair back from Molly's tear-stained cheek. "I suppose that did give her a little practise." He murmured, studying her thoughtfully. "And you, Mrs Weasley...how are you coping?"

"You care for me too?" She tried to laugh it off.

"What matters to Ginny matters to me." He said softly. "You matter deeply to her."

Bowing her head, Molly was unable to stop more tears. "I-I'm sorry." She whispered hoarsely. "I...I should be used to it by now...it...it's been months...I should be coping better than this..."

"No, you shouldn't, Mrs Weasley." His hands gently took hers again. "You should take time with the grieving process. If you hurry it, it will only return further down the line, so much worse."

She sniffed. "You sound like you're speaking from experience." 

"More than you know." He answered quietly, then fell silent, comfortingly holding her shaking hands as she wept.

***

"D-d-don't make me go in there...please..."

His arms still around Ginny, Bill looked at the living room door, then down at his younger sister. "Ginny..."

"I-I can't...I can't go in there..." She was staring at the panel of wood as if it was a deadly snake, poised to bite. She looked up at him desperately. "You...please...I-I-I can't forget...I can't..."

Charlie moved around in front of his sister, gently taking her from Bill. "Ginny, you can do this." She whimpered, shaking her head violently. "You survived You-Know-Who... you were brave enough to do that...you can do this."

"But I...it was there...I did it there..." She tried to pull back as Charlie steered her towards the door. "Don't...please..." An anguished sob escaped her as Charlie started to open the door, Ron jerking his elder brother's hand back.

"Don't." He cautioned, looking down at her. "We just got her back, Charlie. You don't want to scare her off again, do you?" He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Ginny, listen, you don't have to go in there, all right?"

She nodded, shaking.

"Ginny." Bill let her lean back against his chest. "Listen. I know you're upset." One of the twins snorted at the understatement. "But you have to face what happened. You managed to face us..."

"But I killed daddy in there." She sobbed, turning to burrow into his chest.

"No, you didn't." Charlie said, his voice calm as it always was. Confused, she turned to him. "You didn't kill anyone, Ginny. You-Know-Who did, even if he made you hold the wand. No one here blames you." A sad look crossed his face. "Dad didn't blame you."

"But I-I-I did the spell...I said it...it was me..."

"To save all of us from him, Ginny." Bill whispered. "You saved us. You and dad did more than anyone I know would do for us. I couldn't have done it..."

"But you didn't!" Her voice was shrill, hysterical. "I did it! I killed him!"

"And dad was forgave you, Ginny." Charlie said softly. "Do you remember the last thing he said to you?" Her eyes pressed close, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, she nodded. "He loves you. Even when you had to do that, he still loved you." 

A hiccough escaped her and she flung herself into Charlie's arms. "I miss him." She whispered hoarsely.

"We all do, Ginny." Fred murmured, a sad smile crossing his face. "I keep on ending up sitting out in the garage, rearranging his plug collection according to shape, size and colour."

"I went and alphabetised his battery pile." George ruefully admitted.

Bill laughed. "And I thought I was bad, trying to get another Anglia airborne."

"Mum'd thump you, if you managed to pull that off." Ginny muttered, scrubbing her face with the heels of her hands. She looked at the door of the living room, her lower lip trembling. "I...I have to...don't I?"

"And we're all here to back you up." Bill reassured her.

Gathered around her, they watched as she opened the door, flinching as if expecting to be struck by some unseen force. Her face white, she looked into the empty room, a muffled sob escaping her.

Slowly shuffling into the room, which looked nothing like it had that night, she felt the warm, golden sunlight washing up her legs as she stepped out of the shadows and onto the carpeted floor.

Everything seemed bright, warm and soft, the home that she remembered from what seemed like an eternity ago. She stopped and looked down at the spot on the floor, where her father's body had fallen, as she had cursed him.

"It was there..." She said shakily, pointing. "He fell down..."

Charlie reached her first, his arms around her. "We know, Ginny, we know. It's all right. You're doing great." She gripped his hand, moving forward towards the spot, kneeling down shakily.

"I-I wanted to say I was sorry..." She whispered sadly, touching the carpet, which showed no traces of the crime that had happened there so many months before. "I-I-I didn't want to do it..."

"Tell him, Ginny." Bill knelt on her other side, squeezing her knee. "Dad'll always be looking out for us, y'know...even if its just to check we aren't doing anything with his collections..."

Ginny laughed weakly. "Yeah..." She sniffed, bowing her head. Her whisper was almost unheard, but her brothers all shared the sentiments. "I'm sorry, daddy. I miss you...I love you."

Both of her eldest brothers wrapped her up in their arms, tucked snugly between them, as they all started to weep softly.

***

"I want to surrender myself." A wand was placed on the desk. 

The middle-aged Ministry Wizard, Lancelot Bennett, who was sorting through a huge pile of paperwork, rolled his eyes. If it wasn't one fruitcake trying to get himself arrested, it was another. 

The number of weirdoes they had had claiming to be Death Eaters was getting beyond the ridiculous. Why anyone would volunteer to be sent to Azkaban was just beyond him.

"And why would you want to do that?"

"I was a Death Eater."

Green eyes rose to the...barely more than a young boy standing on the other side of the desk, filling with scepticism. "And why would you turn yourself in, knowing that you could go to Azkaban?"

The boy looked down for a moment, then raised his grey eyes to the Bennett. "I have information about You-Know-Who."

"Don't you worry about him, son. He can't harm you anymore." The wizard gave the pale, point-faced boy a fatherly smile. "We have him in our custody."

There was a long pause. 

"But you don't have his Heir."

Green eyes slowly rose to find serious grey eyes gazing down at him.

"That's nothing to joke about, son."

"Which is why I'm not joking." The boy rolled up the sleeve that covered his left arm, revealing the Dark Mark burned into his pale skin. Lancelot Bennett rose to his feet, colour bleaching from his face. "I want to...I want to be able to redeem myself for things I had to do...please..."

Nodding, unable to make his mouth form coherent words or sounds, the revelation just too much for him to grasp, Lancelot motioned for the boy to follow him towards the office of the Minister of Magic.

He didn't see the smirk that crossed the boy's face, as he fell into step behind him.


	16. Chapter 16 : The Revelation

A few days after chapter fifteen.

Notes: Well, its happened again. A chapter got too big for it's boots (I try to keep them to 15 pages or under each), so I had to cut it in half, because it was just too frigging big. This was the second half of the last chapter, with a few additional scenes shoved into both now, to tidy it up, so now, the story is scheduled to end on the stroke of 21. (Although I do have an associate taking 3:1 odds on it turning into a 25-er - not a chance, Kristian!)

So, onto the summary of what's been happening in the wonderful Wiz-world. I'm just tidying up the HP side of things at the moment, in this chapter & the one before it and trust me when I say big fun is about to start happening *naughty evil grin*

Still, it isn't mine. I doubt I'll get to JKR or Joss "the Genius" Whedon's standard for a good while yet and I currently need all the practise I can get, so here we go again - more of my playing in other people's playgrounds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Sixteen - The Revelation

"Um...what are you doing?"

Ron looked up from the pages of the bridal magazine he was reading, grinning at his sister, who was standing in the doorway of the living room, clad in her pyjamas and dressing gown, rubbing her eyes sleepily. 

"We couldn't go public with our engagement because we were waiting for you to get back, Ginny."

"Engagement?" She squinted at him, apparently barely awake. "You...? Eh?" 

"Ron, she's only been home for a week, she just got up and she doesn't know I'm here yet," A female voice spoke from the kitchen, amused. "Can't you let her get her bearings before you start boring her with our news?"

Ginny's eyes bugged. "Hermione? You? And Ron?"

"That's us." Hermione nodded, smiling, as she entered the room. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and looked strangely casual compared to Ginny's memory of her as Head Girl. "How are you, Ginny?"

Ginny managed to smile. "I-I think I'm good." She said, then looked down at Ron, who was still grinning like there was no tomorrow. One finger pointed at him and she shook her head, trying to start a sentence several times. "You...You and Hermione?!?"

"Don't sound so shocked, Ginny." Ron laughed, as Hermione settled down beside him on the couch, one of his arms sliding around her shoulder. "You know we never do things normally in this family." 

"I'll say." Shaking her head, Ginny shuffled towards the kitchen, where her other brothers were eating breakfast. "This is going to take some getting used to..." She was mumbling to herself, as she sat down next to Bill.

"You heard the news?" Fred tossed a piece of toast off the grill to her.

"Hermione and Ron..." She nodded. 

George chuckled at the expression on her face. "Nice to see we're not the only ones who think that is just plain wrong..."

Spreading butter and jam onto her slightly-burnt toast, keeping her eyes down, Ginny tried to cover a smile, thinking of the wizard that she was in love with.

Even though she had been at The Burrow a week, remaining with her family, while Severus slipped away to see the Ministry, she still hadn't got around the mentioning it to her brothers. 

Something told her that she hadn't really needed to tell her mother, even though they had discussed the matter in depth. As always, her mother seemed to know everything and more.

There was a firm rap at the door.

"I'll get it!" Their mother's voice called from the hall.

Since Ginny's return, Molly Weasley seemed to have learned something invaluable and was coping in a way that was astonishing her sons. One week earlier, they were sure that nothing could help her, but now...

"Good morning!"

"How can she sound so...awake at this time of the morning?" Bill groaned, shaking his head, already on his third cup of strong black coffee since Ginny had joined them at the table.

"Of course! Do come in! She'll be delighted to see you! And you're just in time for breakfast." The door closed down the hall and they heard their mother talking happily to whoever it was who had just arrived. "I won't take no for an answer."

Fred scratched his head. "Has someone been force-feeding mum coffee again? She sounds a bit...scary." 

"Fred! That's not nice!"

"Indeed, Mister Weasley. That was rather rude." A silken voice behind Ginny spoke. Her eyes went wide and the toast fell from her hand as she spun around. "Good morning, Miss Weasley." Severus gazed down at her.

He barely had time to brace himself when a red-haired whirlwind crashed straight into his arms. All four men around the table - realising who was standing there - were staring at their former teacher.

Ron and Hermione, wondering what the fuss was about, peered in from the living room, apparently as surprised as the other four were to see Ginny wrapping herself in Snape's arms.

George was the one to comment, as Ginny snuggled against Severus' chest, her arms around his waist. "Ginny, you do realise you're hugging Snape, of your own free-will, don't you?"

Snape's lip curled. "As always, Weasley, your powers of observation astound me."

"Severus!" 

"Miss Weasley?" He arched a dark brow at her ominously, which only made her giggle harder, biting her lip. "I simply stated that your brother has truly astonishing powers of observation that are second only to Professor Trelawny's psychic abilities."

"Be nice." She chastised.

"Ginny..." Fred, looking rather bemused, asked. "Did you just call him...Severus?"

Snape opened his mouth to reply, but Ginny held up a hand, giving him a knowing look. "Let me guess, Severus," She cleared her throat and, in a passable imitation of his tone of voice, said. "It is clear that such witty and observant traits are hereditary."

"You have clearly spent too much time with me, my dear." Snape chuckled, raising a hand to caress her cheek, his brow brushing against hers. "You are starting to know me a little too well..." He looked around at her brothers. "And yes, your beloved sister called me by my forename."

Much to their surprise, Ginny grinned. "Severus, can I tell them why?"

"You mean..." She looked up at him angelically. "No! Child, please..."

A wicked glint sparkled in Ginny's eyes. "Oh, go on, Severus...it'll be funny." He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, quickly closing his mouth and eyes and shaking his head in despair. "That's a yes, then..." Before he could stop her, she announced. "Everyone, I'm in love with an ex-Death Eater, who was a spy for the Ministry and who is a better shag that You-Know-Who was." 

You could have heard a pin drop.

Snape went beetroot.

After several minutes of prolonged silence, George spoke up, directing the question to his brothers. "She is talking about Snape, isn't she?" Several slow nods answered in the affirmative. "Oh bloody hell, Ginny!"

Burying her face in Snape's chest to muffle her giggles, Ginny's shoulders were shaking with laughter. In spite of his embarrassment, Snape couldn't help chuckling with her.

"You wicked little witch," He muttered, his head bent to bring his lips close to her ear. "You're going to pay for that."

Lifting her face to him, her lips curving in an adorable smile, her eyes danced. "I did hope so." She murmured, nudging the tip of her nose against his. "But we couldn't have Ron and Hermione outdoing us, could we?"

Snape glanced sidelong at their audience. 

The four eldest Weasley sons looked utterly stunned. Molly was smiling, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. Ron was shaking his head, grinning idiotically, his fiancée standing alongside him and smiling.

"I think it is probably a good thing that they are...a little surprised." He remarked in an undertone, for her ears only. "If I know how protective elder brothers are, had I been someone of your own age, who they did not know, I would be getting threats from all sides."

"But they're too scared of you to do that." Ginny replied, equally quietly.

Snape raised a brow. "Scared? Of me?" Slowly, turning to glare at them from behind his curtain of hair, he had trouble keeping his face straight when they all immediately found somewhere else to look. "I can't imagine why..."

Ginny laughed. "I have no idea, Severus, but its the first time that I've ever seen them speechless."

"If it helps," He started to speak to the four eldest brothers, but Ginny grabbed his chin, making him look at her.

"Don't you dare!"

Black eyes gazed at her blankly. "You would rather I refrained from mentioning our high standard of...bonking?" Ginny squeaked in embarrassment, swatting his chest, as he chuckled. "I never imagined you were so prudish about it. After all, you were the one who brought it up..."

Bill was looking rather green, while the twins seemed to be finding something on the wall very interesting indeed.

"Do I have to shut you up?" Ginny demanded, scowling at him.

"If you must..." Before he finished speaking, her hands had slid behind his neck and pulled his mouth down against hers. His arms wrapped around her and she was almost lifted off her feet.

Ron closed his eyes, squinting through the narrowest of slits beneath his lid. "I really didn't need to see that." He moaned, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes.

Releasing the panting and grinning Ginny, Snape smirked. "Be grateful that its only a kiss, Weasley."

After a moment of considering what was being implied by his ex-teacher, who was currently holding Ron's little sister against his body in a more than intimate fashion, a dirty smirk on his lips, Ron's face twisted in horror. "Euuuuuuuuuurgh!"

"You're terrible, Severus." Ginny snickered.

"And you are surprised?"

Kissing his lips lightly, Ginny shook her head. "Not at all."

***

Worried looks were passed around the Council of Aurors.

"Do you believe he's telling the truth?" Oliver Wood asked, leaning on the arm of his sat, his brows knotted in consternation. "After all, he is a Malfoy and they aren't exactly known for their honesty and generous gestures..."

"We tested him with veritaserum as his trial." Benjamin Stone answered grimly. He was the head of the Council, his scarred face making him look much older than his thirty-nine years. "Every word he said was true. You-Know-Who has an Heir."

There was a communal intake of breath.

They had hoped it had all been a lie, an exaggeration or something.

"What are you going to do with the boy?"

Stone rubbed his temples. "He clearly came to us to absolve the crimes that he had to commit as a Death Eater." He said. "He has given us information that would place him on the blacklists of the Death Eaters by providing the advanced notice so we can prevent the rise of another Dark Lord."

"You're saying he's risking himself?" Sirius Black, one of the more recent Auror acquisitions, along with Wood, studied Stone dubiously. "I don't know. A Malfoy always has a double-agenda."

"But the information." Ruby Wicks said, tapping the stump of her right forefinger on the tabletop. "You have to admit that he must be desperate, if he is turning over the Dark Lord's Heir to us."

"Did he tells us where this Heir is?" Wood asked.

Stone shook his head. "He doesn't know. All he knows is that the mother has been raising him in secret, teaching him the dark arts, so he would have been ready to join his father when he reached adulthood."

"Well, that really helps." Black threw his head back. "We know there's an Heir out there somewhere. We know there's a mother teaching him the dark arts. Oh, wait, we don't know where we can find them."

"We have a description of her."

"That's a big start." Black snorted derisively. "You do remember that she's a witch, don't you? That she can change her appearance by any number of spells? Hell, she could even use polyjuice..."

Stone motioned for him to be silent. "We have someone that I wish to contact." He said. "He worked for the Ministry, infiltrated You-Know-Who's ranks."

"You tell me that you're bringing Severus Snape in on this..." Black's expression grew menacing. 

"He was a spy, Black. He may know about this situation."

"If he did," The former prisoner of Azkaban muttered darkly. "Why didn't he come forward before? Like he did so wonderfully when he let me get sent to Azkaban when he knew I was fucking well innocent?" 

"Now, Sirius..."

Black raised his hands. "I'm just saying that he seems to be very picky with the information he gives to you."

"He's the only who might be able to shed some light on this, Black." Stone repeated, his tone stern. "We can't help it if you have a personal vendetta against him. This is the fate of the wizarding world we're talking about."

Black slouched back in his seat, saying nothing further.

"Ruby, you and Wood interview Malfoy again. Get a full description of this mother of the Heir character. As much detail as possible." Stone directed. "I'll see what I can find out from Snape."

***

"Good afternoon, Mr Stone. Professor McGonagall. Minister Hardy." 

Stone's two companions had been called, as they had both been aware of Snape's double-sided mask, therefore providing some kind of support for the dark wizard and the ability to verify anything he had reported to them.

"Ah, Snape, do come in." Stone motioned to the seat opposite the desk, looking up in surprise when another figure edged around the door, brown eyes looking warily down at him. "Miss Weasley!"

She flinched back sharply, then managed to smile weakly at him. "Er...hello, Mr Stone...P-P-Professor McGonagall...S-sir..." She looked at Snape. "Severus..." Her eyes flicked to the busy waiting room, then back to him.

Snape smiled gently, unfurling a hand in her direction. She crossed the carpeted floor in a heartbeat, her hand slipping into his. "If you don't mind, Miss Weasley will remain with us." 

Stone raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, shuffling some parchments. Professor McGonagall tried to smile reassuringly at the girl, but her lips thinned. Hardy looked at the girl, then Snape and shook his head.

They sat down on the opposite side of the desk.

"I assume that Miss Weasley knows about your...duties for the Ministry?" Snape looked at her, then nodded. "It is regarding situations that may have arisen while you were partaking of these duties."

"I suspected it may be."

Stone looked down at the papers on the desk for a moment, then raised his eyes. "I need to know what you can tell me about You-Know-Who's Heir." Snape's face went white, his jaw locking. Ginny gasped. "You do know something?"

"I-I...I can't say."

"Severus..." Professor McGonagall spoke. "Professor Dumbledore trusted that you would provide us with the information we need."

He nodded, one hand locking around the arm of the seat, his knuckles white. "He also trusted me to withhold that which I thought was necessary for the protection of innocents who might be involved." He said, his voice shaking.

"Snape," Hardy spoke up quietly. "We're talking about the only living Heir of the Dark Lord. He must be contained, before he gains his full powers. We can not have another Dark Lord."

"Listen to me, please," Snape's voice was shaking and he looked like he was about to be sick. "You don't want or need to bring the Heir in. It won't change anything. It won't help matters."

"Severus, tell us what you know."

"I can't."

"Can you give us good reasoning why?"

Snape looked at Ginny's white face. Tears were shining in her eyes. "Because there is an innocent involved." He answered. "I don't want another helpless innocent to suffer because they have been in contact with the Dark Lord."

"Severus, it has gone passed that." McGonagall said quietly. "We know you did all you can to help Miss Weasley, but this is the Heir of the Dark Lord. You must tell us what you know..." She paused, a stricken look crossing her face. "Or face Azkaban."

"No!" The flame-haired young woman shrieked, surging to her feet. "No! You can't! You can't take him away!"

Rising, Severus gathered Ginny to him, hushing her. Bringing her down to sit again, he looked at the trio on the other side of the table. "Minerva, if I thought that it was important, you know I would give you all that I know..."

"She is not making an empty threat, Snape." Hardy said. There was an apologetic expression in his brown eyes. "If you do not provide us with the information we need to pacify the Justice council, you will be sent to Azkaban for obstruction of justice and support of the Dark Lord."

Ginny's plaintive moans grew more audible, her fists beating feebly against his chest as she sobbed. "No...no...you can't...don't leave me...you can't go..."

His face contorting in pain, at Ginny's anguished cries, Snape nodded. "I'll tell you all that I know." He said quietly. "The mother of the Heir was a girl called Bones. I can't remember her full name. She vanished after You-Know-Who fell the first time... no one knows where she is. She went into hiding with the child."

He paused to draw breath. "Just after the Dark Lord returned, he had been searching for her. She went to him, asked for permission to raise their child to adulthood, to full power, she claimed, before bringing it to the father. He agreed."

"Yes," Stone nodded. "And we know there was a photograph sent by the mother. We have it here." 

He opened a folder in front of him, withdrawing a muggle picture. A striking youth with dark hair and eyes who certainly wasn't Alexander Bones glared sinisterly out at them. Snape stared at it.

"Is this him?"

The former Potions Master nodded. "Y-yes. That's him."

"That's all you know of the Heir?"

"Yes." He lied easily. After all, he hadn't been such a successful spy just because he could look convincing in a cloak and mask. He knew he shouldn't go further, but he had to know. "What will happen to him and his mother?"

Stone sat back in his seat. "When they are found," When, not if, Snape noticed, a sick feeling spreading through him. "They will be arrested and tried. I expect the mother will be sentenced to Azkaban..."

Ginny went rigid in Snape's arms. "No..." She turned to stare at them, shaking her head. "You can't...you can't send her to Azkaban..."

"Miss Weasley." Snape hissed, hoping that she would take the not-so-subtle hint not to mention knowing the mother of the Heir and arouse more suspicions than she had to. "You came here on the condition that you remained silent."

Brown eyes stared at him, then she nodded.

Neither of them saw the speculative looks that passed between the three people on the other side of the desk.

"And you have no idea how to contact this woman?" Hardy finally asked.

"No, sir."

"We had heard," The polished wizard murmured. "That you were her contact with the Dark Lord."

Snape's lips pressed together in a thin line, briefly wondering who it was that had betrayed them. It would have to be one who had not taken the Blood Vow, probably one of the younger generation, afraid of Azkaban.

"I did not contact her. For one thing, I had no idea where to find her." He said, his voice grating. "I would receive messages anonymously through another source. I never contacted her. I couldn't."

"Very well..." Stone gestured them towards the door. "That will be all, Severus."

With a suspicious look at them, Snape - with his arm around Ginny's shaking shoulders - made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Do you think he knows more than he claimed?" McGonagall asked.

Stone shook his head. "The girl, though..."

"What of her?"

The wizard scratched his neck thoughtfully, his scarred brow wrinkling. "I'd suggest keeping an eye on her, at least. I think she might know a bit more about this situation than she let on."

"I'll arrange that." Hardy said.

"Good." Stone muttered. "The sooner we take care of this, the better."

***

"And they know about Alexander!"

Cassandra was swaying where she stood, the telephone gripped in her hand as if it was a snake. "You...you're sure, Ginny?" She asked, her voice trembling. "I mean, is there a chance..."

"Someone told them...one of the Death Eaters..." The girl's voice was ringing and hysterical on the other end of the line. "Cassandra, I don't want them to catch you, but they're looking! They know what you look like! And Alexander!"

At that, Cassandra froze. "Wh-what?"

"They had a photograph of him..."

"Oh!" Relief flooded the blonde witch. The picture of Jesse she had sent. It was a face they were guaranteed to never find. "Ginny...listen to me, okay? I need you to find out all you can. Let me know what's happening. See how far they are getting and keep me updated."

"Wh-what are you going to do?"

Cassandra sighed. "I know some glamour spells...I can't guarantee they'll hide me, but I'll try what I can. You take care, all right?"

"O-okay. Bye for now."

"Bye." Hanging up the phone, Cassandra sat down heavily on the arm of the sofa, staring ahead of her, not really seeing anything.

So they knew...

Not just the Death eaters, but the Ministry.

Looking down at her hands that were suddenly feeling very cold, she watched them shaking against her thighs. Lifting them, she pressed them against her face, which felt like it was on fire.

"Oh God..." The first sob took her by surprise with its intensity. "My baby...don't let them find my baby..."

***

"Mrs Weasley?"

"Yes?" Molly Weasley had just stopped cleaning, her hair tied up in a purple scarf, a few strands of red curling around her cheeks, as she greeted the two Ministry wizards at the front door, one dark haired, one blonde.

They were younger than most Ministry wizards used to be, a lot of them having to be replaced thanks to Voldemort, who had cut down whole swathes of Ministry Officials and workers, just because he could.

A file was held out to her. "Some information, regarding your son, Percival, has come to light. We believed you might want to know."

"In-information?"

"Regarding his stance, when You-Know-Who was at his peak."

Molly looked at the folder, feeling a little dizzy. "I-if you mean he was a Death Eater then I...I already know."

"Actually, we're afraid that it is a good deal more complicated than that." The first wizard prompted gently, proffering the brown file again. "I suggest that you read the file, before condemning him."

Taking the folder, hesitantly, Molly wet her lips that felt awfully dry all of a sudden with her tongue. "Do...do you want to come in for a cup of tea or something?" She asked in a voice that sounded nothing like her own.

"No, thank you." The dark-haired one smiled politely. "We ought to be returning to the office. It was just a matter of seeing that you received the information enclosed in that file personally."

"Thank...thank you." Smiling back uncertainly, Molly Weasley closed the door and made her way through to the living room, where her two eldest sons and youngest daughter were. 

Bill was studying some of the Gringotts accounts he had been working, tidying up the numbers, piles of parchment surrounding him, while Charlie read an article about a new breed of dragon, which had appeared in the South Seas. Ginny was playing solitaire on the floor.

Sitting down in the big, empty seat beside the fireplace, Molly withdrew her wand and touched the magic seal on the folder, which melted away instantly, letting her open the brown folder.

"What's that, mum?"

Molly's brows wrinkled. "I'm...I'm not sure." She answered carefully. "The Ministry have found out something about...it's about Percy..."

Ginny's head popped up instantly, her face white. Bill's jaw tightened and Charlie said nothing, keeping his eyes on the article in front of him, not wanting to be on the receiving end of Bill's fist again.

"What...what about him?" Bill managed to grit out through clenched teeth.

Molly raised a hand to silence him, reading through the transcript of a trial, which had apparently happened a few days before. "Oh dear God..." She whispered, another wave of dizziness washing over her.

"Mum?" Ginny sat up straighter.

Molly couldn't find words to reply, her hands pressing to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. She shook her head, staring at the words blurted out by a young wizard, under the influence of Veritaserum.

"Mum?" Charlie did look up now, concern on his face.

Bill started to rise from the seat he was occupying. "Mum, what is it?"

"It's Percy..." She whispered, tears rolling down her suddenly-pale face. "He..." Her voice became angry. Clasping her hands over her face, she groaned, pushing them through her hair. "How could we have been so bloody stupid?"

"Wh-what is it?"

"He...he was under the Imperio curse, Ginny." Molly whispered, looking back down at the parchment lying in her lap. "Everything he did to a member of this family, he did because of that..."

Ginny whimpered, Charlie reaching down to touch her shoulder, his own face losing its colour.

"A-a-apparently, h-h-he wasn't killed...by them..." Molly's voice was shaking so hard that she was barely coherent. "After h-he hit Ginny, h-h-he managed to b-break the curse...he...to... to sto-stop Y-You-Know-Who using him a-against us..." A sob escaped her. "H-he killed himself...to...to stop them h-hurting us..."

"Oh my God...my God..." Bill whispered, his already-pale face going from white to grey. He had been the member of the family who had been ready to condemn Percy instantly. "Mum, I..."

"I-I-I should have known..." Molly whispered, letting the file slip from her lap, pages scattering all over the floor. "Percy would never...could never..." She buried her face in her hands. "My little boy..."

Ginny was across the room like a shot, crying too, and cuddled into her mother's arms, both of them weeping. Charlie looked like he had finally come to understand something that was troubling him and lowered his head.

Bill, though, had guilt etched on every line of his face.

"Perce..." He whispered, hoping and praying that wherever his younger brother was, he would hear. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

***

"We've got her, sir!" Stone looked up at the switchboard connection and the wizard sitting, hooked up to the wire. 

In the weeks since they had started following the Weasley girl, she had regularly been caught using the muggle phone lines - most frequently, at random call-boxes - and they had finally managed to tap into the right connection at the right time.

"We have a number..."

"Which means?"

The young wizard, Paul Peregrine, looked up at him. He didn't know what it was about, but he knew it had to be serious, because of the amount of overtime everyone was pulling in on the job, many of them doing so voluntarily. 

He, himself, was low in the Ministry, but he had the technological know-how that came from being a muggle-born that the Ministry wanted to use, doubling his pay and giving him his own office for the duration of the situation.

"We'll have an address soon."

A quietly triumphant look crossed Stone's tense face, which relaxed for the first time in weeks. He closed his eyes, releasing a sigh.

"Sir, if I may ask..."

"What is this about?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I trust this information will remain confidential, Peregrine."

"Of course, Sir."

Stone rubbed the bridge of his nose with a fingertip. "You, of course, know of the situation with You-Know-Who." Peregrine nodded. "Apparently, at some point during his first rise, he sired an Heir."

"Shit, sir!"

"Yes...yes...one might say that." Nodding towards the large computer and telephone networks on display in front of Peregrine, Stone gave him a weary look. "We couldn't find the mother through magical means, which is why you were called in."

Peregrine's enthusiastic expression shifted slightly. "I-I'm here to find the mother of the Heir, Sir?"

"Indeed you are."

Turning back to his terminal with renewed vigour, a look of determination on his face, Peregrine starting battering the keys on the numerous keyboards, his eyes flicking across various screens in front of him, shifting the headset.

Stone sighed.

He couldn't be prouder of all of his people.

They knew exactly what they were doing and they worked so efficiently.

The Heir would be in their hands by nightfall.

***

Cassandra was in the middle of doing the laundry when there was a knock at the front door, startling her. 

A surge of bitter fear burned in her gut and, checking that her spell was still in place so she would look like an Afro-American woman to anyone who wasn't a family member, she ran up the stairs from the basement, squinting through the gauzy curtains of the living room.

A large group of figures were gathered outside.

"Oh God..."

Slipping back down the flight of stairs into the basement, she ran across the floor, reaching the back door and opening as quietly as she could, edging out into the warm Californian afternoon. 

Two men in robes greeted her, unsmiling.

"Wh-who are you?" She demanded, her voice shaking.

"No questions." One of them growled, grabbing her by the arms and steering her back into the house. She could feel her skin bruising as she was dragged up the staircase, the group at front door having – apparently – let themselves in.

Thrown down, hard, in front of the leader, she landed heavily, wincing. A pair of black shoes appeared in her line of sight and, reluctantly, she raised her eyes up the body of the wizard, his scarred features horrific.

"Don't hurt me! Please!" Feigning ignorance, she started to sob, waving a hand in the direction of the money jar that sat on the fireplace. "Please! Take the money! Take anything! Just don't hurt me!"

"This act is pointless, Miss Bones." The tall, scarred man stepped forward from the group, his expression serious. "We know who you are."

"Who's Bones?" Cowering down on the floor, Cassandra was sobbing in earnest, shaking violently. "I'm Cassie Harris! Never heard of Bones...never heard of her... don't hurt me..." 

"Stone, you don't think..." One of the robed witches spoke, sounding a confused.

The scarred man raised a hand for silence. "There's one way we can be sure." He said, gazing down at her emotionlessly, those dark eyes making Cassandra feel worth less than a piece of dirt.

"Sir?"

"The Mark."

Cassandra's eyes went wide. NO!

Scrambling to her feet, she made a break for one of the windows, willing to hurl herself through the pane of glass if she had to.

A hand locked onto her wrist, whipping her round savagely, her momentum sending her crashing into the wall and hard. A cry of pain escaped her as she heard her jaw crunch, blood spilling from her lips.

Two pairs of hands grabbed her, forcing her up against the wall, face-first, one hand on the back of her head crushing her face against the rough paper, her breath escaping in gurgled pants.

"NO!"

"Remove her shirt."

"Sir?"

"LET GO OF ME!"

The scarred man spoke again. "My informant stated that he heard she was marked on her back, instead of her arm." There was a moment of silence. "Take the shirt off, Wood. Now." 

"NO! Please! Please...don't..." Sobbing, she cried out as one of the hands holding her crushed her face harder against the wall, the younger one – Wood apparently – grasping the thin material of her shirt.

It brought back the memories, so many memories...of Voldemort disrobing her to shame her, of her husband's friends when they had the chance to toy with her, her husband's own hands guilty of that same crime.

Sobbing and struggling against them, she felt a rush of air across her back as her shirt was ripped away and several sharp intakes of breath from the group of wizards surrounding her.

"The Dark Mark..."

Cassandra went limp with defeat, sobbing bitterly. Slumping down against the wall, she folded her arms over her bare chest, shuddering. There was nothing else to do without her wand. 

She had tried to conceal the mark, but nothing would cover it and now, they knew it, knew who she was...

Jerked around by a gnarled hand, a wand was thrust under her chin, forcing her face up. "Drop this mask, Bones." 

It was the scarred man who spoke. Unable to fight, the glamour melted away, leaving the pale, terrified witch sprawled on the floor at their feet, blood staining the lower half of her face.

Disgust was scored into every one of the faces looming over her and she hunched down, burying her face in her hands.

"Cassandra Bones," The voice continued, barely even reaching her awareness. "You are hereby under arrest by the authority of the Aurors council, for your allegiance to the Dark Lord."

"No...no...no..." Shaking her head, she lifted her tear-streaked, bloody face to him. "I didn't do anything..." Tears were rushing down her pale cheeks in rivers. "If I was dark... if...I would...wouldn't I have attacked you? Wouldn't I? Please..."

"Sir..." Wood was staring at her. "Are...are you sure this is the right person?"

"Don't listen to her, Wood. She's lying, no doubt." A middle-aged witch muttered to the young man. "Many Death Eaters had skills with words, to manipulate those around them into believing them."

"Please...please...please..." Sobbing, rocking back and forth, Cassandra's fingers dug into her scalp.

Stone studied her for a long moment. "Give her something to wear. Let her cover herself." He said quietly. "I want a portkey outside the front door as soon as possible. I want the muggles here to believe that she has been taken by muggle law-keepers."

Wood nodded, shrugging out of his own travel cloak and squatting to drape it around her shoulders. Cassandra stared up at him, one of the witch's hands rising to touch his face so softly that he wasn't even sure that she had made contact at all.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, tucking the robes around her, then pulling back.

Kneeling on the floor, Cassandra bowed her head, weeping quietly, pulling the black cloak tight around her shaking shoulders, wishing she had some way to contact either Ethan or her little boy.

***

Hands thrust deep in the pockets of his baggy jeans, Alexander smiled at the thought of what he had done the night before, without anyone even being aware of it.

Thanks to his knack for getting thrown around, knocked over, hit or generally being accident-prone, he had been banned from 'getting in the way' at the library when something had come about the Hellmouth opening.

Yeah, he had also had sex with Faith.

He grinned.

Sex was definitely of the good.

How things had changed with the arrival of the fiery new Slayer, Faith, only a few months earlier. 

Buffy had a Slay-buddy. 

He had someone new to check out, although his eyes - and heart - did keep returning to Cordelia, despite the fact she went out of her way to put him down. Hardly a big surprise, since he had sort of ended up having Willow-smoochies, when he was only meant to be getting Cordelia-smoochies.

And now, he'd had sex.

Smothering a grin, he tried to think past that for five minutes.

To think about the fact that he might have just saved the world.

Yes, his friends had been in the library, closing the Hellmouth, fighting and doing spells, but had he failed, then the school would have been blown to pieces, his friends would have been killed and the Hellmouth would be open.

When some undead ex-pupils of Sunnydale High had set a bomb up in the basement of the school, he had been the only one who knew about it, he had been the only one who could stop it.

Turned out to be a game of chicken...

When asked if he cared about dying...

"I like the quiet."

It was true, although he knew that he would have one very dirty pair of boxer shorts when he got home. 

And not for the sex reason...

"Way to go, Harris." He murmured. "Meet pack of zombies, find out zombies plan to blow up the school, have sex," Again with the big grin. "Find zombies, save school, save world..."

Turning the corner into the street where he lived, he was a little surprised to see a police car parked by the sidewalk, his expression shifting to one of confusion when he realised it was right outside his home.

"What the...?"

Had mom finally been taken too far?

Had dad been caught?

Starting to run towards the house, he saw the front door open, a group of men and women in black robes emerging, two of them flanking his mother, who was also clad in a black cloak, her face bloody and tear-stained.

She raised her head, when he was still half a block away, her eyes going wide.

"ALEX!" Lunging forward with a scream, she almost broke free from the two men flanking her, one of them grabbing at her, pinning her arms to her sides. "Alex! RUN! Tell Giles! Get Ethan! Tell him to get Ethan!"

"Shut up!" The robed man holding her dragged her forward, Alexander running as fast as he could to try and reach them, to save his mother.

"TELL GILES!" His mother screamed wildly as the robed men gathered around the car, all of them laying a hand on it, one of them forcing her hand against the metal as well. "GET ETHAN! GET..."

She continued to scream, as one of the men withdrew a stick of wood from his robes and pointed it at Alexander with a cry of. "Petrificus totallus!"

Alexander didn't know what happened. One minute he was running, the next, it felt like he had been encased in concrete, his eyes wide, as he fell forwards, landing on his face on the ground.

"ALEX!"

He was aware of someone moving, hands turning him onto his back, staring at his face, and someone said in a voice that reminded him of Giles in a strange way. "Isn't him, sir."

"Alex…get up…please…get Ethan…tell Ethan…" He could still hear his mother's cries, but he couldn't manage to make himself move, his eyes staring straight up at the clear sky above them. 

And suddenly, silence.

It seemed like an eternity before he could move his body again and he scrambled unsteadily onto his feet. He hadn't heard the engine of the car start so they must still be there, although it was eerily quiet.

Turning, he found the road vacant.

The spot where his mother, then men and the police car had been was bare.

On legs that suddenly felt like jello, Alexander looked around. When his voice escaped, it was in a trembling whisper. "Mom?"


	17. Chapter 17 : The Truth

Heir Of Voldemort - Chapter Seventeen The Truth

Immediately after ch. 16

Notes: egads - I've been uber-inspired of late and its not a good thing at all, considering I have three essays to write and can't seem to do anything but write fic, fic and hey, more fic! I wanna get this one and The Eighth Weasley finished as soon as possible, although - advanced warning - The Eighth Weasley is about to become an epic, so it may take a while.

So, I warned you in the notes of the previous two chapters that things were going to go bad and you don't get much worse than being arrested then dragged off to the Ministry to face a trial, leaving your son in a full body-bind on a pavement in a different country.

Well, yes, of course you do get worse, but lets not be picky.

It's time.

Xander is going to learn some hard facts about his family.

And these characters are so lucky that they don't belong to me! Even Cassie doesn't but if I did this to all my characters - I would probably have been taken off the air due to an entirely dead set of characters.

_________________________

"Giles! You gotta help me!"

Skidding through the swing doors of Sunnydale High School's library, Alexander crashed squarely into the desk that blocked off the librarian's office from the rest of the library.

"GILES!"

Instead of being seated at the massive tables that took up the main non-book area of the bottom floor of the library, or sorting out books up in the stacks, Rupert Giles was apparently taking a well-earned break.

"C'mon, Giles! I need help!"

"Xander?" Peering around the doorframe, seated on the wheeled seat by the desk, the Watcher came to his feet instantly, leaving his cup of tea and newspaper on the surface of the desk. "Wh-wh-what on earth is the matter?"

Panting, clutching a stitch in his side, Alexander struggled to draw breath, one hand on the counter to hold himself upright. "My mom...guys...guys in black dresses...long dress things...and magic sticks...froze me...took mom..."

Giles' brow creased in confusion. "You...you'll have to be more specific."

"Got home..." Still panting, Alexander made a frantic gesture with his hand. "They dragged mom out...she was bleeding...told me to tell you...get Ethan...one whammied me...then they were gone..."

"Get Ethan?" The librarian stiffened his back.

"She said...a few times...screaming...she was screaming..." Alexander stared up at Giles' face, anguish etched in his brown eyes. "I tried, Giles...I couldn't help her...I couldn't help her..."

His legs seemed to give way beneath him and, bonelessly, he sank to the linoleum- covered floor, leaning heavily against the side of the counter, his eyes burning with fear, anger and confusion.

Absently, he was aware of Giles tilting his face up, making sure he was aware, then getting to his feet. 

In a daze, he watched as the Watcher get a large, round, brass plate - or something that looked like one - and pull out a thin stick like the one the weird guy-in-a-dress had pointed at him, pointing into a weird bowl on the floor.

A column of flame spewed from the stick, burning brightly on the plate.

The Watcher grabbed something from the counter above Alexander's head, tossing a handful of what looked like green powder into the flames, which immediately burned a poisonous green colour.

"Ethan! If you're there, answer me!"

If he hadn't been having such a surreal day, Alexander knew he would have yelled in fright as a head appeared in the middle of the flames, looking up at Giles, with the face that he recognised as Ethan.

Bending, his expression ugly with anger, Giles bent and grabbed Ethan's head, jerking him forcefully, the sorcerer's full body erupting through the flames and crashing to the floor of the library.

"Bloody hell, Ripper!" Pushing himself upright, Ethan turned, only receive an uppercut from Giles, whose face was scarlet and contorted with fury. A vein was throbbing in his temple as he grabbed Ethan's hair and jerked his head back.

"What the hell have you done?" He demanded furiously.

On his knees, bent over backwards, Ethan raised his hands. "Mate, I haven't done anything! I swear!"

"What about Mrs Harris?" Giles nodded towards Alexander. Alexander stared back dumbly. Was he meant to wave or something to let them know he was still there, or just sit, while Giles beat up his former friend.

Ethan's green eyes locked onto Alexander's face, widening. The colour seemed to wash from his face, leaving it a sickly shade of grey. Shaking his head, his mouth opened and shut, making no sound.

"Explain!" Giles snarled.

"God...no..."

"Ethan..."

Tears were gleaming in Ethan's eyes. "Let me up and I'll tell you everything." He said. His voice sounded rasping, choked, as if he were having trouble speaking. "It-its a long story..."

Giles stared at him for a moment, then released his hair. He looked as if he expected Ethan to flee immediately, clearly surprised when the sandy-haired wizard scrambled over to Alexander.

"Alex? Alexander?" Giles made a sound of surprise, apparently unaware that this Ethan guy knew his name. "Listen, listen to me. I need to tell me exactly what happened to your mum, right?"

Blinking, Alexander looked up at Giles, who nodded. "I-I was going home...usually do, y'know...got to the end of our block and saw a cop's car outside the house...I figured dad and mom were fighting again...then guys...guys in black dresses...they brought mom out of the house...she was bleeding...she saw me...yelled at me to get Giles...to tell him to get you..."

"Shit..."

"One of them had a weird stick..." Alexander's vision seemed strangely blurry, his mouth dry and fuzzy and, odd, his cheeks felt wet. "I...I was trying to help her...he pointed...it flashed and I fell...I-I don't know why...one of them said I wasn't 'him' and then it went quiet...when I got up they were gone..."

He didn't quite know how it happened. 

One moment he was sure he was leaning with his back against the edge of the library counter, the next he was sobbing desperately in the arms of Giles' ex-friend, Giles staring down at them.

The wiggens didn't even have a look in today.

"What's going on Ethan? Who were they?" Giles' voice spoke from above.

Alexander was still held securely against Ethan's chest, the sorcerer's arms around him and - for once - he felt safe. He felt like he often believed he should feel, when he was in the arms of his father.

"They were from the Ministry of Magic, Ripper." Ethan's voice was hoarse, one hand spread on Alexander's sweat-dampened hair. "They've been looking for her."

"Her? Mrs Harris?"

Ethan shook his head. He seemed exhausted. "She's one of us, Ripper." He said softly, his voice shaking. "She's that skinny little Hufflepuff brat I used to pal about with..." As one both men said. "Cassandra Bones."

"But she doesn't look..."

"A concealment spell, nothing more." Ethan interrupted, still soothingly untangling locks of Alexander's hair with his right hand, the other grasped between Alexander's shaking ones.

Giles was silent for a long moment, then he asked what Alexander was wondering to himself, although he felt to secure to ask anything, in case it took this wonderful father-feeling away. 

"Why was she concealing herself?"

Ethan seemed to go rigid. "She's accused of consorting with the Dark Lord prior to his first fall." He muttered, ignoring Giles' loud curse of surprise.

"But she-she-she's Xander's mother."

Alexander felt Ethan's cheek press against the top of his head. "It's time." He said, so quietly that only Alexander heard him. His head shifted slightly and he looked up at Giles. "Ripper, you're looking at the only son and Heir of You-Know-Who."

There was a heartbeat of silence, then the hollow thump of Giles' head hitting the floor, as he fainted.

***

Walking back and forth outside of Stone's office, Snape refused to sit down at the long, padded seat that stood along one wall. To be lined up among the rest of the people there made him feel like a prisoner awaiting execution.

Plus, it irritated the impatient secretary to have him pacing back and forth across the horrendously patterned red and green carpet, passing in front of her dark wooden desk with every traverse he made of the room.

Anything to distract him from the thought of what was coming.

Either they had realised that he had been lying about his knowledge of the Heir and his mother, or something more sinister was afoot and he was going to be sent in to make the inquiries.

"Once a two-sider, always a two-sider." He murmured to himself wearily, looking around as the secretary called his name. She motioned him towards the door, which opened of it's own accord.

Entering the room dimly-lit room, he found Stone gazing at him steadily from his desk, directly opposite the door. The blinds were drawn down, half-closed, moonlight slatting in from outside.

Like everyone else had, since the furore about the 'Heir' had come to light, Snape had been expected to be on constant alert, lest he be called in by Stone, as he had been tonight.

Leaving Ginny in the sanctuary that she had returned to with him - with her mother's blessing, after she had threatened Snape at wand point that he wouldn't keep her away so long the next time and he assured her that he would bring her back whenever she wanted to visit - he had apparated straight into the office.

A single desk lamp was switched on, a buttery gold nimbus spread around it, lightly illuminating the dim room. It cast odd shadows on Stone's horribly scarred face, as the Auror surveyed Snape.

"Sit." He suggested in a way that was more of an order, motioning to the hard-backed wooden chair that faced him across the desk.

Sweeping around the chair, Snape sat down, folding his hands patiently in his lap, his eyes and face revealing nothing, as Stone studied him. The Auror looked down at the papers in front of him, then back at Snape.

"We require you to testify at a trial."

The surprise Snape felt clearly showed itself on his face, his eyes widening slightly, a brow rising. 

"If...if I may ask, why did you feel the need to bring me here, out of my bed, at this time of night to tell me so? Isn't it more commonplace to contact witnesses by owl, then arrange a meeting?"

Stone nodded. "Normally, that is the case, but in this scenario, we have no time for such formalities." He explained, his voice rigid and emotionless. "The trial begins tomorrow and we need you there."

Snape was genuinely puzzled, although he didn't show it. He hadn't heard of any arrests in the last few days and there certainly weren't any Death Eaters that he knew of who were awaiting trial, as far as he knew.

"Who is the accused?" He finally asked.

There was a moment of silence before the Auror looked up from the parchment he was studying. "Cassandra Bones, consort of You-Know-Who, Mother to the Heir of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Severus felt like he had received a punch to the gut, the breath rushing from his lungs, colour fleeing his face. "Y-you found her?"

"Indeed. Her disguise was effective, but she couldn't conceal the Dark Mark. She was brought in a short time ago." The look on Stone's face was one of weary triumph. Snape felt for the man, he truly did, but when he knew that the Heir was no more than a harmless little boy... 

He was one of only four people in the world who knew that fact and his word was hardly reliable, considering his one-time loyalties. The other three...well, they were hardly going to prove any better.

One was the mother, who had the unfortunate background of carrying the Heir, after being manipulated into a copulation with Lord Voldemort.

Another was a demon-worshipping, dark arts-loving exile from their world, who was under threat of death in more magical places than Snape could count with all his fingers and toes.

And the third...

His lover - and if he had any say in the matter, soon-to-be wife - who was already so emotionally fragile that he would rather have returned to cutting himself on a daily basis than risk seeing her shattered by facing a trial jury.

The child didn't stand a chance.

"What do you require of me?"

Stone studied him. In the buttery light, his eyes seemed to be wreathed in flame. "I don't need to tell you that the charge of consorting with the Dark Lord is a serious one." He said. "You must give evidence against her. We need her in Azkaban as soon as possible, so the populace can feel safe."

"But if she is harmless?"

"Snape, it makes no difference what you may believe." Stone's tone grew hard. "The jury will judge her on her evidence and that provided by you and the other witness we have access to."

"And if I refuse?"

Stone's dark eyes said everything and nothing at once. "You would be concealing evidence that may prevent a rise of another Dark Lord." He said. "I would hate to see you sent to Azkaban, after you have achieved so much."

"You know I would go to Azkaban if the cause was true."

Stone gazed at him. "Yes, but how would your young lover cope?" There was an edge of darkness in Stone's voice. "After all, we need not remind you that she, too, was a consort of the Dark Lord and by her own free will, which is a crime..."

"Damn you..." Bleak black eyes glared at Stone, his voice a hoarse whisper. "You would threaten to break her, simply to put an innocent witch in Azkaban?" Stone said nothing. "So I have no choice in the matter. I assume that means I will have to partake of veritaserum for the duration of the trial?" Stone nodded the affirmative. 

"We will make it as short for you as possible. After all, we still have a lot of work to get done."

The former teacher's eyes narrowed. "Did you find the Heir?" He asked carefully.

"That will be all, Snape." Stone scrawled something on a sheet of parchment, folded it and held it out to the former Death Eater. "Be at the court for ten o'clock tomorrow morning. We want this cleared up with as little fuss as possible."

Taking the parchment, Snape nodded, unable to form another word.

Stiffly walking out of the office, he disapparated immediately, apparating into his home and wearily hanging up his travel robe beside the fire place, the air warm and comforting, the scent of his lover reassuring.

Withdrawing the folded sheet of parchment from his pocket, he sat down at the chair in front of the fire quietly, unfolding the sheet and studying the dates and times assigned for the trial.

Ethan would know by now, he knew.

He couldn't quite say how he knew, but he did...

Ethan would know.

Ethan would be plotting something bold, something dramatic and something that Snape fervently hoped wasn't too stupid.

"Where did you go?" 

Hastily folding the sheet of parchment, he looked up with a weary smile, as Ginny rounded the back of the chair. She looked like she had been asleep, her hair sticking out in all directions, her eyes cloudy.

"Stone wished to see me." He answered, his voice low, as she slid down into his lap and nestled against his chest, her head coming down to rest on his shoulder. "It was a matter of great importance."

"Oh?" 

"Mmm."

"What?"

His arms loosely around her waist, his chin resting on the top of her head, Snape closed his eyes. "I have to be a standing witness at a trial tomorrow." He replied.

"Whose?"

"Ah...well...I don't think you would know of them..."

Her face rose and she looked at him. "Severus..."

"Dear one..." He tried to distract her and failed spectacularly. 

"Severus, who is it?" Snape's eyes fell and he knew that she wouldn't take long to work it out. There was only one person that they knew who would be tried and who he would be called in as a witness for. "Oh God..."

"They captured her only a few hours ago, Ginny...I don't know how they did it...how they found out where she was..." He sounded desperately unhappy. "I...we should have... the meeting we attended... should not have happened...we could have refused... they would never have found her."

"And her son? Did they get him too?" 

Severus shook his head. "No. For that we have to be grateful." He drew her to him, burying his face in her hair. His voice was barely a whisper, but she made out every word. "They want me to stand against her..."

"But..."

"Dear one, I must do it." He turned his face to hers, cradling her cheek. "My life and yours hangs by a thread. Should we refuse, Stone will find some way to cut the thread and we will fall."

"But Cassandra..." Tears were rapidly filling Ginny's eyes. "Severus...we can't let her go to Azkaban..."

"Her son will find her. Her son and her lover...they will be the ones to save her." His hand tangled through her hair, their foreheads pressing to one another's. "For now, all I'm concerned about is keeping you safe, dear one."

Her eyes pressed shut, tears trickled down her cheeks. "I love you, Severus." She whispered hoarsely. "I love you so much, it scares me...don't let them take you away from me...not now..."

"I won't leave you, dear one." He brought her brow down and touched a soft kiss to her forehead. "I love you too greatly to let them tear us apart. Not after all the pain it took us to reach this place."

Letting her bury herself in his chest against, he closed his eyes and held her as she cried quietly.

***

"But I can't be."

Ethan sighed. "I'm afraid you can be and you are, Alexander." He said. He had just spent over an hour revealing the history of the youth's heritage to him. They were sitting at the large tables in the library and the sun was just starting to set outside the windows, slanting warm gold into the room. "Listen, have you ever done anything, when you were angry or afraid?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know..." The sandy-haired wizard ran his fingers through his curly matt of hair. "Maybe someone made you angry or scared and then something made them look stupid... or you wished something would happen and it did...or anything..."

Alexander, who had been staring blindly at the surface of the table, where his fingers were moving in circles, lifted his eyes, a combination of incredulity and astonishment on his face. "The curse..." He said in a hushed voice.

"Curse?" Ethan was bemused, but apparently Giles knew what the boy was talking about. "What curse?"

Lowering the ice-pack from his head, where an incredible lump was blossoming on his right temple, the Watcher-librarian looked like everything in the world had suddenly made sense. "Of course...Willow was too weak...unable to-to-to perform it herself... I-I often wondered who had provided th-th-the strength for her to complete the spell..."

"Look, mate, maybe you know what this is all about, but let's pretend that Ethan, the bearer of bad news, doesn't have a clue what the Hell is going on in your happy little world." He looked from Giles to Alexander. "What was this curse?"

"Buffy's demon boyfriend..." Alexander glanced at Giles', as if checking that he wasn't saying that he shouldn't.

"You mean the vampire...Angelus? The one who lost his soul after he got a bit of nooky off blondie?" Dark-haired boy and watcher stared at Ethan, as if he had grown a second head. "Look, I'm your Godfather, Alexander. Your mother and I knew pretty much everything there was to know about your madcap band of friends."

"Well..." Giles seemed a little surprised. "Th-that would certainly make things a lot easier. We-we-we did intend to recurse Angelus, to return his soul."

"Willow was in hospital." Alexander volunteered the information. "I went to help Buffy... when I was pulling Giles out of the mansion, I remember I didn't think Willow would be strong enough to do the whole spell thing, but I was wishing and hoping for it..."

Giles nodded. "Willow said it felt like something went through her. The two who witnessed her perform the spell st-stated that she looked like she-she-she had connected to something p-p-powerful."

"I never thought it was me." Alexander's voice lowered to a whisper. His eyes went back down to the table and he shook his head. "I-I can't be magical...I mean, I can't do anything...and even if I am...what's to say I wouldn't be like my...father?"

Ethan reached over the table and squeezed Alexander's hand. "Alexander, listen to me. We hid your powers until we knew you would need them. You didn't need them to be who you are. You're strong, you're a brave and loyal friend, you're the kind of person that Voldemort fought against. From what I've seen of you, you fight for good, which is something that Voldemort would never do. "

"So my dad's an evil psychopath?" He raised his eyes to the ceiling, blinking hard. he looked like he was on the verge of tears, but he managed to laugh. "I just thought of something...me and this Voldemort guy having a reunion...and it turns out like Dr Evil and Scott from Austin Powers..."

"If you want a pop-culture reference that you can work with, Alexander," Ethan's tone was serious. "I would say it was more like Luke finding out the Emperor, not Vader, was his father."

Brown eyes - so very like Cassandra's it felt like a skewer had been thrust through his heart - looked bleakly at him. "And I thought the guy that I called dad here was bad." He murmured. "He...he hurt her, didn't he?"

Nodding sadly, Ethan looked away. "Very much."

The teenager fell silent, returning to tracing circles on the table. The two older men exchanged looks, Giles still looking utterly stunned by the revelation, while Ethan simply felt drained.

He looked it too, haggard and drawn. His eyes were bloodshot and he kept running his hand convulsively through his hair.

"What are we going to do, Ethan? They can't take my mom away. I-I want to go and get her back. She doesn't belong in their world anymore..." Alexander finally spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan's eyes closed. "It won't be easy, Alexander. There's every chance they could send you to wizard's prison and that really isn't a place I would want to send you."

"But it's where they're gonna send my mom, isn't it?" Ethan couldn't bring himself to reply, even when Alexander's voice rose. "Isn't it? They're going to send my mom to wizard's prison, because of who I am!"

The two older wizards exchanged looks.

"Alexander," Ethan stood up. "I have an idea about what we can do. I have a friend who saw everything...I can get in touch with him and if we move fast enough, then we might just be able to get your mother out of this. Would...would you be willing to come to England with me? I mean, you could well end up in jail in her place and..."

"I'm coming."

"Xander."

"No, Giles," Alexander said determinedly. "I'm going to get my mom back."

***

"Why are you doing this to me?" 

Stone stood at the door of the cell, gazing in at the now-infamous prisoner, who was crouched down against the wall in the corner. "You knew that you were a fugitive, Miss Bones," he said. "You were concealing yourself."

Bloodshot brown eyes gazed up at him. "Didn't you wonder why I hid? For all those years he was back, didn't you even think to ask why I didn't come forward and take my place at his side?" The woman's voice was hoarse and rasping.

She was clad in loose, plain black robes that hung on her thin body, making her look even smaller than she already was. Her long, gold-coloured hair was magically bound back from her white face.

"That is why you are being taken to trial, Bones."

Large tears that seemed too big for her pale, thin face, rolled silently down her cheeks. "Why won't you even listen to me?" she pleaded. "I didn't want to be the one to carry his Heir. He made me..."

"And you and I all know that no witch can be forced to carry a child unless she joins into a union of her own free will."

The witch's shaking hands clamped on her temples, her eyes fixed on her upraised knees, in front of her chest. "You're _not_ listening to me..." she said, barely audibly, her voice shaking. "I _didn't_ want it...he _made_ me..."

"And you, Bones, are not listening to me. Witches can not be forcibly impregnated."

"He BOUGHT me." She cried out, showing more spirit than he had seen in her when they captured her. "I had no choice...don't you understand?" Her voice was shrill with anger and despair. "I paid with my body to save my family!"

Stone's lip curled. "Your family were killed the day you disappeared, Bones. Deny all you like, but we know that you were the cause of their deaths, either by your own hand or by those you sent."

"He told me he would spare them...he told me and I believed him...I was a fool..."

"On that we agree, Bones." Stone's voice was hard. He stepped out of the doorway and stared at her in disgust. "Your trial will begin in five hours. I suggest you get some sleep."

The huge door slammed, plunging Cassandra into darkness.

Pressing against the wall, tears silently streaming down her face, she buried her face in her knees that were hugged against her chest and wished she could see her little boy, just one more time.

"Just let him be safe," She whispered. "Let him be safe."


	18. Chapter 18 : The Trial

Set - the day after ch. 17

Notes: Yes, we're coming into the final straight now. this is actually the second-last chapter to be written (the last chapter is already half-done) because I really don't want to deal with the emotional stuff in this one. I think I'm liable to make myself blub like a baby...hopefully I won't, but oy...emotional trauma...

Three more chapters after this one...and perhaps a prequel depending on how well this one goes down...maybe...I have ideas for it and it could turn out to be kind of... entertaining, but I'll have to work on it some more...and babbling...so much fun...

__________________________

Chapter Eighteen - The Trial

"What's going on?"

"Xander and I have to...we...we have to go..."

Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer, didn't seem satisfied with that answer, her hands spread on the counter as she watched Giles lock up the book cage and the office of the library.

She was sitting on the top of the book counter, between two columns of ancient tomes, as he moved around his precious library, her legs crossed at the knee, swinging one booted foot up and down impatiently as she studied him.

"Where?"

"I-I-I beg your pardon?"

"Where are you going?"

Giles looked at her in a way that suggested he was tired and frustrated and would happily smack her on the head. "Xander's m-mother is in some trouble...he has asked me to-to-to accompany him...moral support."

"Mrs Harris in trouble? What's up?"

Again, Giles paused and studied her, as if assessing whether she deserved to be told what was going on. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, knowing that badness was ensuing and she could do nothing. 

"I-I-I-I'm afraid it's all up to X-Xander, if he wishes to-to-to tell you," he replied, looking to the library doors which had just swung open. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, the younger watcher stood there. "Ah, Wesley."

"Mr Giles, I have just been informed that you are temporarily leaving Sunnydale."

Buffy almost snickered at the exasperated look on Giles' face. If he could have gotten away with beating the younger Watcher up, she could see that he would have done it right at that moment.

"Y-y-yes, I have some personal m-matters to take care of," he replied. "I trust you will be able to-to-to keep moderate control in my absence."

Wesley seemed to swell up proudly. "Of course I would..."

"Yo, B!" Both men winced at the voice of the second Slayer. "Hey G, Wes! Just found us a nest. Thought Slay-gal one might be up for some hot girl-on-girl action for the take-down."

Smiling at the matching expressions on the two watchers faces, Buffy swung down off the counter and landed on her feet. "I'm in," she said, pausing to touch Giles on the arm. "You help Xander's mom, Giles."

"I intend to," he returned the smile, albeit weakly.

***

"Right...passport...oh crap! Where's the real one...?"

Ethan had managed to pile his most essential belongings into a single rucksack, his room at the motel which served as a home looking like little more than a bombsite, clothes and magical herbs scattered everywhere.

Upending his bed, he yanked the sheets and blankets off, sighing with relief when he saw his real passport slide out the end of the duvet. Bending to pick it up, he stopped short when a pair of impeccable shoes and trousers came directly in his line of sight.

"Oh...crap..."

"Now, is that any way to treat one of your loyal clientele, Rayne?" the striking Afro-American vampire chided, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "You knew I would be comin' lookin' for you sooner or later..."

"Look, mate," Straightening up and taking a careful step back, Ethan raised his hands. "This really isn't the best of times for you to come waltzing into my motel and demanding your...er...wait a mo...why are you here anyway?"

"Got a little job for you, Mr. Rayne," the vampire smiled, brushing a hand down the lapel of his dark, pinstriped suit.

The wizard was more than a little relieved that Mr Trick, the vampire in question, tended to keep his human features on display, because he really was a frightening thing to look at when his demon side was visible.

"A...job? What kind of job?"

"You'd have to ask the Mayor about that," Trick smiled and it wasn't in a pleasant way. "I'm just the delivery boy, y'see. For some reason," he remarked. "The Mayor had this sneakin' feelin' that you would avoid him...me and the boys were sent to make sure you did no such thing..."

"Er...right..."

Trick bent and picked up the passport from the floor. "And, Mr Rayne, just where might you be goin' in such a hurry?"

"Family business."

Trick raised his brows, nodding as he flicked through the passport. "And what," he asked casually, his eyes darting to Ethan's face. "Might this family business be? A sick ol' grandmamma? Mommy needin' help pickin' apples?"

"Actually," The wizard couldn't help grinning. The words truth stranger than fiction certainly applied in this case. "The mother of my God-son is on trial for being the concubine of the Dark Lord of the wizarding world, so I'm just off to save the day and bring her back."

Trick's fingers that were flipping through the passport froze. He lowered his the passport, staring at Ethan. "You ain't tellin' me that we've had the mate of _the_ Snakeman livin' right here in good ol' Sunny-D and the Mayor didn't know?"

Ethan hoped he didn't look as stunned as he felt.

The demon world knew about Voldemort?

Okay, yes there had been that incident with Drusilla and Angelus, but they had assumed that was a one-off, because the vampiress was a seer, but for the whole demon populace...

Of course, he felt like kicking himself, there was Voldemort's pure connection to the dark side that meant that all dark forces would inevitably feel the touch of his power, even if he didn't intend it to happen.

Plus, he drew his power from them...

Only, they hadn't realised Cassandra was in their midst.

"Uh...yes?"

"You gotta be kiddin', man!"

Ethan spread his hands. "I-I knew her from Hogwarts...she's been hiding out here..."

"Hogwarts, huh?" His passport was tossed across the room to him, the vampire face shifting into a more genuine smile. "Man, have I heard about that place. What house were you in?"

"Um...Hufflepuff."

"Graduated?"

Ethan shook his head. "Expelled for experimentation with the dark arts."

"Figures," Trick chuckled. He sauntered back across the room towards the door, which was flanked by two much larger, growling vampires that Ethan hadn't noticed before. "Well, Mr Rayne, given what you're doin' for now, I'll just have to tell the Mayor that you are...ah...otherwise occupied at present."

"You will?"

"Hey, man, no disrespect to the Mayor, but the Snakeman is way up in the chart of power," the vampire said, raising his hands. "If you're gonna be the one to save his mate... well, good luck to ya buddy. Hope ya succeed."

"Uh...right...thanks."

"No problem, buddy," Trick pulled the door closed, leaving Ethan staring mutely at the panel of wood.

A few minutes later, he shook himself. "Okay," he mumbled. "What the Hell just happened here?"

***

"All rise." 

Everyone in the court shuffled to their feet, although it was quite a challenge given how many people had crammed into the magically enlarged courtroom, many wanting a glimpse of the now-notorious Mother of the Heir.

Somehow, as always was the case in such an incident, the story had been leaked and everyone in the wizarding world knew about the fiendish witch, who had borne the only living Heir of Voldemort.

Rumours abounded about what had happened to the Heir, many believing him - that detail had been leaked out as well, although the source remained safely anonymous for the time being - to be either dead or vanquished.

Row upon row of witches and wizards watched as Judge Prescott, one of the high council Judges, took his place at one of the higher benches closest to the stage, which lined the side wall of the courtroom and looked directly down on the chair. 

The jury of sixteen neutrally chosen - although there was some contestation about that, due to the fact that no one could truly be neutral in regard to Voldemort - were seated in the bench on the opposite wall. Every other bench alongside it and to the front of the court was packed with people.

Just beneath them, in a lower tier of bench, two men sat, pointedly ignoring one another: One was tall, dark and forbidding, with glittering black eyes, the other slim, blonde and grey-eyed.

They had been called in as witnesses, lest the Mother of the Heir was foolish enough to remain silent for the duration of her trial.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed, sallow-skinned man, the older of the two, was staring down at the centre platform of the court, a muscle in his cheek visibly twitching, his hands clenched on the arms of the seat he occupied.

His neighbour - separated from him by a magical partition to prevent fighting amongst the witnesses - looked strangely smug and a little triumphant, despite his pallor, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk. 

He was the one who had brought the news of the Heir to the Ministry of Magic.

As soon the Judge was in place and everyone had resumed their seats, all eyes went to the platform at the front of the court, where a chair - it's arms hung with chains - stood. Not one person in the court could fail to see it.

The air in the room was already stagnant and stale from so many people breathing it, the windowless, underground courtroom beneath the Ministry dark and forbidding, but they knew that not one of them would leave before the trial was over.

It was simply too interesting...and too much of a threat for them to leave.

They wanted to know that they were safe, that there were no more Dark Lords waiting to step out of the wings and take Voldemort's place, after all they had fought for was finally coming together again.

"Bring her in," the Judge said loudly. A couple of people noticed that his voice shook a little.

Behind the chair, a door opened, the intake of breath audible.

Two Aurors - Dementors were no longer permitted in the courtroom until after the trials, due to serious reactions from the spectators - lead a slight figure around the chair, making her sit as they chained her to the monstrous chair.

A few looks were exchanged.

Surely there had to be some kind of mistake.

One of the two witnesses, the younger of the two, leaned forward in his seat, staring in shock at the woman, whom he was to blame for capture of. Lines marred his brow, his lips parting silently. 

It couldn't be right...

The witch now manacled into the chair at the front of the court was small, thin and frail-looking, blonde hair drawn back from a white face and bound with magic, dark frightened eyes looking around at them.

"Stone, has the defendant been dosed with Veritaserum?"

One of the two Aurors nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied. "The maximum strength of potion was ingested by the defendant fifteen minutes ago. She will be able to give nothing but direct answers to your questions."

"Stone, you may stand down."

The Head Auror and his companions both moved back to stand behind the chair, flanking the door.

"Witch," Judge Prescott began. "What is your name and your date of birth?"

Brown eyes looked up at him. "Cassandra Morgana Bones," she replied, her voice rasping. "Twenty-fourth of November, 1960." 

Behind the chair, Stone nodded in agreement.

"Did you, Cassandra Bones, consort with the Dark Lord?"

"Yes," Her dark brown eyes screamed desperately that she had more to say, but the potion had her under it's control. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, the cuffs biting into her thin wrists.

Everyone in the courtroom hissed and muttered softly.

She had admitted it.

Prescott rapped his gavel, a stiff silence falling as he posed his next question. "Did you go to his bed willingly?"

Shaking her head wildly, Cassandra's eyes stared up at him. "Y-yes," her lips said.

Again, murmurs rippled around the court, disgust crossing the faces of the observers. 

Tears were gathering in the witch's eyes, spilling uncontrollably down her white face. She looked like she wanted to cry out, say something further, but they had been strict with the variety of veritaserum they had dosed her with.

"Were you conceived of a child while performing as a consort for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

The witch's mouth opened and closed, as she silently cried out words that none of them could hear, anguish on her face. Unable to say anything but the direct truth, she let her head fall. 

"Yes."

There was uproar.

Several witches cried out and at least one fainted. A few voices cursed, while a couple of people tried to lunge up onto the stage to attack the chained witch, only to be forced back by the two Aurors.

Prescott had to batter his gavel furiously, before any order was restored.

"SILENCE!"

His words carried enough anger and power to convince them that sitting was probably the safest thing to do at that moment.

"Bones," his voice was low, steady, as he turned back to Bones. "Was the child that you carried the child of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Y-yes."

"How can you be sure?"

Her face crumpled in shame. "He was the only one that I had intercourse with."

The Judge leaned back against the high back of his seat, looking a little pale. Of course, the Dark Lord mentioned in the context of 'intercourse' was enough to make anyone feel a little ill.

A ripple of whispers spread through the court, subsiding when Prescott rapped the gavel twice, sitting upright.

"Does the child live?"

Frightened eyes stared at him, the witch's lower lip trembling. Tears were gathering in the dark hollows beneath her eyes, until they brimmed over and rolled down her gaunt cheeks.

"Bones, I asked you a question," he said sternly,. He leaned forward on the edge of the bench, glaring down at her. "Does the child, the Heir of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named live?"

Cassandra Bones shrank back in the enormous chair, shaking her head at the judge, her pale lips pressed so tightly together that they were little more than a thin line, her eyes huge.

"Answer the judge," Stone growled from behind her.

Bones shot a look over her shoulder at him, then shook her head again, cringing back against the chair as if expecting to be struck.

The Judge looked across to the witness stand. "Draco Malfoy, stand if present."

"Present," the blond youth rose, a proud look on his pointed face, which was not unlike his father's.

"You have ingested veritaserum?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Your full name and date of birth, boy."

His chin up, the youth answered. "Draco Lucius Malfoy. June fourteenth, 1980."

Prescott, checking the files in front of him nodded, then looked back across at the younger of the witnesses. "What do you know about the Heir of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" he asked. "Can you tell the court how you came by this knowledge?"

"I know that she," he jerked his chin in the direction of the witch chained at the fore of the court. "Is his mother. I learned of their existence when Karkaroff was brought before You-Know-Who and he tried to barter information of the Heir for his life." His lip curled. "The Dark Lord began an extensive search for his... whore, but she came to him instead and begged for permission to continue to raise the child until he was strong enough to join his father."

"Did the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named agree?"

Malfoy nodded. "He wished to regain his empire before the child returned to him."

"Do you know what the Heir looks like?"

"No, sir."

Prescott scratched at his chin thoughtfully, then asked Malfoy, "Do you know if the Heir still lives?"

The boy shook his head. "I don't know any more than I have already told you about the Heir, sir."

The Judge motioned for him to sit, which the youth did, but he looked less confident than he had before the witch had been brought into the courtroom. "Severus Snape, stand if present."

In the witness bench, the dark man rose, his expression neutral but for the twitching muscle in his cheek. "Present."

"You have been called as a witness to this trial and are known to us," Prescott said. "Have you ingested a dosage of Veritaserum?"

"I have."

"How do you know of the Heir?"

Black eyes stared straight ahead. "I was a spy for the Ministry in the ranks of the Death Eaters," he replied, his voice a monotone. "I witnessed the Dark Lord selecting Bones to be the mother and saw her when she was with child."

"Have you ever seen the Heir?"

"I have seen a photograph, but I have not seen the Heir in person," he replied, as he lowered his eyes to the chained witch. She was looking back at him, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Prescott nodded. "Do you know if the Heir lives?"

"I do not know if he lives," Snape's eyes came back to the judge. "After He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated, there had been no correspondence from the Mother, so I assume that he died during or after the battle."

On the chair at the front of the court, Bones lowered her head.

"Bones," Her face rose, pale. "Does Snape speak the truth?"

"Yes," she whispered, looking down at the floor. No one but Snape saw the flicker of relief in her eyes.

The questioning continued, testing every chink in Snape's armour and testing the mother of the air, in case she let something slip, but nothing more of use was found and Prescott turned the judgement over to the Jury.

It was unanimous.

Even before they voted, everyone in the room knew it would be unanimous.

The witch had admitted consorting with the Dark Lord, which - alone - was a crime worthy of Azkaban. 

However, on top of it, she had also admitted to concealing herself from the Ministry, using one of the unforgivable curses on her muggle husband and bearing an Heir as she was requested by the Dark Lord. 

"How do you find the defendant on the charges of consorting with the Dark Lord, conspiring to pervert the course of justice, use of the unforgivable curses on muggles and bearing an Heir to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Judge Prescott directed his question at the Jury forewoman. "Guilty or not guilty?"

"Guilty of all charges."

"Is this the unanimous vote of the jury? Raise your hands if you are in agreement with this judgement."

Every hand of every member of the jury rose instantly and the spectators started to applaud and cheer, some throwing insults at the witch who was slumped in the chair at the fore of the court.

No one seemed to notice that Snape - in the witness box - had closed his eyes, as if in severe pain. Neither did they notice the red-haired witch at the back of the court, who had her face buried in her hands.

Rapping his gavel, Prescott managed to quiet the crowd. "Cassandra Bones," he said gravely. "Rise." The Aurors behind her moved in and unchained her arms, but held her by the shoulders, as she rose. "You have heard the judgement and you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban, where you shall remain until you die."

The witch nodded, looking up at him.

It was unnerving.

She appeared so utterly calm, albeit tragically sad.

Prescott couldn't help feeling that they had missed something.

The catcalls and hisses had started again from the spectators, many of the people in the court and screaming abuse at her. Slowly, the witch turned her face back to them and an eerie silence fell.

Apparently, they were as bewildered by her as the Judge was.

"Do you have anything you want to say to the court?"

Prescott didn't know why he said it, but it was traditional for a Death Eater to hurl abuse at the crowds and he had to admit a trial wasn't quite right if the accused didn't have a chance to get their say.

"Yes."

He raised a brow. "And that is?"

The witch didn't even look at him, her eyes scanned over all of the faces of the crowd in front of her, her face still streaked with tears. Turning her head, she looked up at the witness box.

"I forgive you."

It was barely a whispered breath, but in the expectant hush of the court, every ear in the room heard it.

The boy, Malfoy, went white, staring down at her. He looked like he was either going to be violently sick or faint, or perhaps both.

She gave him a strange, small smile, then bowed her head and allowed the two Aurors to lead her out through the door at the back of the platform, leaving the courtroom in a stunned and confused silence.

***

"Rayne!"

Ethan Rayne had barely set foot inside the door of the Leaky Cauldron when a dark figure swept out of the shadows, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him into the shadows again.

In the deep cranny beside the fireplace, shielded from the light of the flames, Ethan was pressed between the dark brick of the wall and the tall, dark man who he could recognise by silhouette alone.

"Sev," he murmured. "You got my owl?"

"When did you land?"

"What happened at the trial?" Ethan's words overrode the former Potions Master's.

Snape's eyes looked away. "She...she was found guilty."

Ethan nodded, a hand coming to his forehead, exhausted. He had come in first to get the news, while Giles tried to wake the jet-lagged Alexander and unload the cab they had arrived in. "Let me guess," he said bleakly. "Azkaban?"

"Azkaban. They took her there first thing this morning."

"Shit..."

Snape's hand squeezed his shoulder. "It...she and I...we were under veritaserum...we fooled them...they think the child is dead."

"Y-you fooled them under truth potion?"

Smirking a little, the darker man nodded. "I took the counter-potion beforehand and told them nothing more than they already knew," he explained. "They wanted to know if the Heir lived. I told them I had received no correspondance and assumed he was dead. This gave Bones two different questions to answer and they, the fools they are, believed her when she said 'yes', when asked if I was telling the truth. I think they just wanted it over as soon as possible."

Ethan nodded with a sigh. "On the plus side, that means that our boy is safe for now, which gives us a little more leverage..."

"What do you have planned, Rayne?" Snape asked, his voice hushed.

"You trust me?"

"Not really."

"Didn't think so," Ethan smiled thinly. "Here's the thing. I've been in touch with Flitwick. He's agreed to stand with me to make a plea for the release of Cass. We... uh...kind of put you down as one of the witnesses."

Snape sighed. "And you wonder why I don't trust you," he muttered. "But you have Flitwick's support?" Ethan nodded. "What does he know?"

"I filled him in on everything except my secret weapon and he's willing to be our official sponsor and back-up when we face the Ministry."

"What secret weapon?"

Ethan's tired smile was a genuine one. "If you agree to join our little committee for the plea, tomorrow night, you'll get to meet him," he said, rubbing his eyes. "That is, if Rupert gets the kid to wake up."

"The kid...? Good God, Ethan! Surely you haven't brought..."

"Yeah, Billy the Kid," the older wizard interrupted, seeing the curious looks they were getting from a nearby table. "That's one of the reasons we have to know if you'll stand. You and he are our best bets for getting her out."

Snape's lips lifted in a tired smile. "You know you don't even have to ask. I would do it for Ginny's sake, if not Bones'," He pushed tangled strands of his hair back from his brow. "Could she...?"

"Ginny Weasley?" Ethan shrugged. "I don't see why not. I think it would do her some good to meet him."

There was a moments silence.

"Sev," Ethan's voice shook a little. "Do...do you know how they found her? Or even how they found out about her existing? I mean, none of the Death Eaters would break a blood vow..."

"Malfoy's boy."

Rayne's lips tightened in a forced smile. "You'll have to introduce us," he remarked, sounding almost casual. "I'd love the opportunity to shake his hand...before I wring the little shit's neck."

Snape almost smiled back. "It would be my pleasure."


	19. Chapter 19 : The Torment

Set - a couple of days after the trial

Notes: This came from a moment of inspired madness (actually I'm still writing ch. 15 as I type this chapter, that's how inspired I am). A test-reading friend mentioned that - on first peek at ch. 15 - Draco was masking his grief with anger. I had plans for this chapter and most of the scene written out on paper and everything but then I got to wondering about Draco and what he was feeling...and inspiration gave me a good kick up the arse. 

After all, this 'tiny' story - which was meant to be ten chapters long originally - has completely changed in the eight months which have passed since I hand-wrote the first scene in this chapter, so I figured I might as well adapt it. 

And I have done. 

BIG TIME!

God, I love my muse sometimes.

For the record, I love this chapter. I really, really love it :)

______________________________

Chapter Nineteen - The Torment

Draco slouched into The Leaky Cauldron, feeling emotionally drained. There were only a few people seated in the booths, none of whom bothered to look around as he closed the door behind him.

It was quiet, even the murmurs hushed, which was just what he was looking for.

He'd had enough of shouting and jeers to last him a lifetime, the somnambulistic atmosphere of the small pub so much more comfortable than both the claustrophobic courtroom and his isolated home.

The trial had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do in his life and he knew his father would probably have cursed and beaten him down for disowning Voldemort, but that was why he had done it.

His father was not there to curse him or beat him or do or say anything to him and his beautiful mother wasn't there to smooth his hair and kiss his brow and tell him everything would be all right.

Because they were dead.

Rotting.

Gone.

Still.

Nothing had changed, despite everything he had done.

They hadn't come back.

They were still dead and gone.

On top of that, even vengeance didn't have the effect he had hoped.

He had disowned the Dark Lord his father had supported so passionately, he had brought the Witch who bore his son to justice, he had done it for his parents but he kept playing back the final moments of her trial in his mind.

It was haunting him.

Her face.

She was still chained in the chair at the fore of the court, her face white, her long hair pulled back from her face. Her dark eyes had scanned the packed courtroom and, somehow, she had found his eyes, out of the hundreds in the room.

Her head tilted slightly to one side, her lips had lifted in saddest, sweetest smile he had ever seen. Nodding to him alone, she closed her eyes briefly, then looked away from him as she was lead from the room.

She didn't react like so many of the prisoners did, screaming wildly or yelling last-minute words of loyalty to the Dark Lord. As she was condemned to life in Azkaban, jeers rising from the court, she had risen to her feet with such calm and dignity that a somewhat stunned silence had fallen.

When she had spoken, he knew the words had been for him.

"I forgive you."

Somehow, the revenge for the deaths of his parents, by having Voldemort's precious 'Lady' imprisoned, had completely backfired thanks to the pride and dignity of the witch, leaving him feeling worse than he ever had, wishing he had just gone along with his brief idea of suicide.

His eyes stinging once more, Draco cleared his throat as he stumbled towards the bar, grateful for the dim light that filtered through the building. He wanted to hide in the shadows, out of the way.

Rounding the edge of the bar into the gloomiest corner, only illuminated by a candle, he sat down on one of the empty stools and folding his arms on the bar, burying his face in his arms.

"Rough day?" An oddly-accented voice spoke from beside him.

Lifting his head reluctantly, Draco looked around at his neighbour, who was mulling over a butterbeer. He half-smiled at Malfoy, but it didn't reach his eyes, which were oddly familiar and as shadowed as Malfoy was sure his own eyes were.

Malfoy had never seen him before: he was tall and fairly well-built, although not as bulky as Crabbe or Goyle had been, with a messy mass of black hair, dark eyes and ears that stuck out from his head.

"You could say that." He replied, his voice rough with tears he needed to shed but couldn't. Forcing a smile, which faltered before it even reached his lips, he sighed heavily. "Things have been a little difficult around here."

"I can tell." The young man, who looked about the same age as him, said. "Want a drink or something? You look like you could use a pick-me-up." He gave Malfoy a persuasive look. "My treat."

"That's generous of you." Sitting up, Draco leaned back against the low back of the stool, staring up at the shelves above him, trying to stop his eyes stinging. 

His neighbour shrugged. "No big." He waved Tom over. "You look like you could use something and I have all this money in my pockets, so why not?" Tom, wiping out a glass, approached. 

"What can I get for you?"

The dark-haired youth looked at Draco. "Anything you want?"

"Whisky." Draco said. Tom studied him for a moment, as if to verify his age, then nodded. Malfoy sighed, watching as the small glass of amber liquid was brought to him. He wasn't a drinker, but damnit! He needed something.

"That bad, huh?" His new best friend gave him a sympathetic look as he knocked back the contents of the glass in one, blinking and panting. Whatever that stuff was, it was strong.

He blew out a breath, then asked. "Have you ever done something, something that seemed like a good idea at the time, but regretted it afterwards?"

"All the time."

"Involving a life-and-death situation?" His neighbour nodded again, taking a deep drink from his tankard. "It...it isn't my life-or-death, you see, so I think that's why its so hard." He shook his head, laughing bitterly. "I don't know why I'm even talking about it. I don't want to bother you with my ramblings."

The youth beside him studied him for a moment. "How about this - you tell me what bug's bitten you and I'll tell you what's biting me." Draco wondered if he looked as confused as he felt when the boy chuckled without humour. "Oh yeah...must find some magic metaphors..." 

"That was a muggle metaphor?"

The youth shrugged. "Guess so."

"You're a muggle?" Somehow, today, that didn't seem to matter as much as Draco knew it should. Even if the boy was a muggle, he still was speaking to Draco in a way he had never been spoken to before.

He was speaking to him as an equal, as just another guy at a bar, someone to booze some troubles away with.

It was an odd feeling.

Most people derided him, especially lately. Before, they had cringed and simpered in front of him, fawning over him, thanks to his father's influence. His father hadn't shown favour in any way, showing a tolerance for his son, but that was all.

The only person who had treated him even remotely like this odd person was - and he started when he realised it - his mother. 

She hadn't cared about what he had done or not done as a Death Eater. She simply appreciated that he was who he was. To her, he was someone that she could happily talk to, to be concerned about, to share the day's adventures with...

To find this...muggle arousing feelings of safety and being more than willing to listen to him...

It was definitely not what he expected, when he had wandered into the gloomy pub.

The boy smiled slightly at him. "Not exactly." He replied. "My dad was a wizard, my mom was a witch, but no one told me that I had any magic in me until last week, so, kinda made with the big surprise...not only was the guy I thought was my dad just a random drunk my mom married out of desperation, turns out both my parents are magic...things."

Draco laughed without amusement. "At least you have parents."

"Not right now, I don't." He put his tankard down, turning a little on his stool to look at Draco. "Look, You have issues. I have issues. How about we share and then drink a lot to forget and get a very bad headache tomorrow?" 

Malfoy found himself smiling for the first time in days. "Well, the drinking sounds like a good idea to me." He waved Tom over again, requesting a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. Tom gave the boy next to him a dubious look. "He's with me."

Still dubious, Tom shuffled off down towards the cellar.

"So...where do we start with the sharing?" His neighbour finished his butterbeer, shoving his tankard away from him.

"Who are you?"

A lop-sided grin crossed the boy's face. "Well, I guess that's as good a place to start as any." He replied. "Xander."

"Interesting name." He remarked. "I'm Draco."

Xander snorted. "And you said my name was...interesting."

"I was actually being serious." Draco looked more than a little put-out. "Most people think my name is amusing, so it is a bit of a relief to find someone with a name as unusual as mine."

The dark-haired boy flashed that infectious lop-sided grin down at him again. "My bad." He said apologetically. "I'm guessing you've been in here before. Bar-guy looks like he knows you."

"I've passed through from time to time." Draco glanced around. "Normally, I would avoid an establishment as crass as this."

"Look at Mister I'm-too-good-for-the-neat-little-pub-but-I'll-drink-their-whisky-anyway." Xander snickered, giving Tom an appreciative smile as the bottle of whisky was placed on the bar in front of them.

Draco shot a look at him. "If I wasn't feeling so bloody depressed, I would have you for that."

"Sure." Xander turned dark brown eyes - which were almost black - to him, giving him what could only be classed as a puppy-dog look. "But then, who would poor Dwaco have to get dwunk with?"

"Are you sure you're completely sane?"

Xander chuckled. "That was never part of the deal, Draco. Depressed, yes. Wanting to be very drunk, yes. Sane, never even got a mention in the small print." He accepted the first glass of whisky, swirling the fluid. "So why are you in the drowning-of-spirits-in-spirits mood? That life-or-death thing?"

"Yeah." Studying his own drink, Draco laughed tightly. "You know, a year ago, it wouldn't even have bothered me, but now..."

"So what's the what?"

"Pardon?"

"What happened?" Xander rephrased his words. "Something to do with Big Bad Snakeman that everyone is so afraid of?"

Draco nodded wearily. "Isn't everything?" He took a sip of his drink, grimacing. "It's his fault that my parents are dead." 

"He killed them?" Xander looked shocked.

"Not personally, but they were killed in the battle." Sighing, Draco put the glass down on the counter, watching the candle-light reflecting of the amber fluid. "I saw it happen...my mother..." He paused, a sad smile crossing his lips. "My mother was so beautiful..." Again he paused, pinched the bridge of his nose hard and sniffed, trying to fight back tears. "I...I keep remembering the last time I saw her...alive...she died in my arms...I could barely recognise her..."

"Oh God...I'm sorry..."

"You don't need to be."

Xander's expression shifted, but Draco didn't notice. "Yes, I do." The dark-haired boy murmured.

"I-I tried to save her..." Malfoy turned his glass around, fascinated by the glimmers of light reflected onto the wooden counter. "I...she was trapped...under rubble...I-I got rid of it, but..." He shook his head, blinking hard. "She was bleeding...didn't even know that I was there...I-I..." His hands moved blindly, as he remembered lifting her against his chest. "I held her...like this..." He touched his left shoulder. "Her...her head was here...I...I asked her to stay with me..." Tears were rapidly gathering in the corners of his eyes. "I...she...she was weak...and..." His hands fell into his lap. "She just left me...didn't even...no goodbye or anything...loved her so much...didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.."

Xander made an incoherent sound of sympathy in his throat, one hand squeezing Draco's shoulder. 

The young wizard bowed his head, not wanting to show his weakness by crying, the silent tears ticklishly sliding down both sides of his nose, which had suddenly become unbearably runny.

"Buddy, don't worry about me seeing you crying." Xander said gently, his hand still reassuringly resting on Draco's shoulder. "I'm not gonna run to the press about it. Its okay to cry."

Draco laughed, a strange choked sound. "My father would kill me if he saw me acting like this. Probably beat me around the head with his stick..." He managed to say, clapping his mouth shut to prevent the escape of the miserable howl of grief he could feel building.

"You've got good reason." Xander gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Me, on the other hand...I'm sure that I've walked in on the set of some weird, magic TV show and all of this is set and props...I can't believe what I'm being told."

"Why?" The feeble squeak of a word was the only thing that Draco trusted himself to say.

"My mom...she apparently did something that kinda annoyed some people over here, some spells on my muggle dad that were illegal..." He paused, before adding - a little cautiously Draco noticed. "And...other stuff. They arrested her."

The blond boy nodded. "They're arresting a lot of people these days...don't want to risk Voldemort coming back, so they're grabbing anyone who even does the simplest of dark magic." He downed his drink, reaching for the bottle. "What?"

"You..." Xander was staring at him. "You said his name? I thought no one said his name around here."

"My father..." Pausing, Draco weighed up what he should say. Yes, he had already been tried, but he didn't want to lose his new drinking partner because of his father's connections. It was...nice to have someone to talk to. A random someone, who wasn't in it for the Malfoy name, someone who just wanted to talk and listen. "My father worked for him."

"Oh."

"Feel free to flee in terror." He drawled, almost sounding like his old self, before sighing. "Everyone else usually does."

"If that's the deal here, you should be the one doing the running." Xander studied him. "You worked for him too, didn't you?"

"Not by choice." Draco admitted, the first time he had done so. Even at his mockery of a trial, he had never mentioned the fact that his father had forced him to serve the Dark Lord. Probably the warm feeling the drink was causing. "It was seen as a family business. Father-son kind of thing." Pouring himself a fresh glass, he sighed again. "I agreed with some of the principals of what he was saying, but that bastard hurt my father a lot. I hated him for it."

Xander was very quiet for several minutes. He sipped his drink, his brows beetling together, as if he was thinking long and hard about something. 

"What was he like?" He finally asked. "Was he as bad as everyone said?"

"If everyone says he's a sick, malicious, twisted bastard, then yes." Draco answered bitterly. "He's as bad, if not worse than that. Even with his loyal followers...he loved to torture them for the most trivial reasons."

"Suddenly very glad that I never met him." Xander went back to studying his half-full glass. "I'm guessing you were trying to get back at him, ergo the whole life-or-death dilemma."

"Good guess."

"Did you do it?"

Draco snorted. "I tried." He scowled at his glass. "I thought it would get everything out of my system - that I would feel better once I had done something that I knew would piss Voldemort off." 

With a sweep of his hand, his full glass hurtled off the bar and smashed against the wall, glass tinkling onto the stone floor. Folding his arms on the counter, he buried his face in them again.

"Didn't fucking work, did it?" His voice was muffled. "I sent a decent witch, a goddamned innocent fucking witch, to Azkaban because I thought she was like him and she forgave me and now I feel worse than ever."

Xander's voice was tight. "Wh-what did you say?"

Bitter tears staining his face, Draco looked at him. "I thought, being the fucking arse that I am, that sending Voldemort's heir and his mother to Azkaban would be revenge against them for taking my parents from me..." His face was concealed by his arms again, as he started to weep, for the first time since his mother's death. "I was at her trial... saw her...her face. She was innocent... just like my mother..."

There was a long silence, broken only by Draco's raw sobs.

Xander, though, was staring down at the blond wizard. His mouth was hanging open and he shook his head, looking away from Draco, as if trying to comprehend what he had just heard.

"You didn't send the Heir..." His voice was shaking when he spoke, breaking the silence. "You just sent his mother there...because she was the only one they caught... they didn't realise that she was yelling to the Heir to run...to get help..."

"And she was fucking innocent." Draco spat, self-disgust etched on her face. "She...I sent her to Hell..." His face lifted fully from his crossed arms, when he realised what the boy next to him had said. "You what? How could you possibly know?"

Xander gazed at him, his expression saying that he was either going to punch Draco very very hard or start to cry equally hard. "How do you think I know, Draco?" He asked, his voice quiet.

Malfoy stared at him, wondering if the boy could be implying what he thought he was implying. "You..."

The boy's brows rose. "I...?"

"No...you can't be...you don't..." Draco stood up so quickly that his heavy stool fell over, crashing down on the floor, drawing several startled looks from further around the bar. "No..."

Xander released a sigh, then looked at his drink. "Sorry, Draco, buddy, but I can be and I do be and that nice "fucking innocent" witch you sent to Azkaban for the rest of her life just happens to be my mom."

Draco's already white face went several shades whiter, with a bit of grey and green thrown in for good measure. "Xander...you...you're saying that you..." He laughed, a little shrilly, breathless and hysterically. "You're Voldemort's Heir?"

"Yeah." Gazing across the bar, not even looking back at Draco, Xander wrapped his hand around the small glass in front of him. "I'm Snake Man's only living kid. Make with Whoo and a bit of the Hoo."

The blond wizard backed away from him. "But you...your father..."

"Is a bastard who hurt my mom more than anyone." Bleak brown eyes looked back at him wearily. 

"He...hurt your mother?" 

"Yeah." He gave the blond a look. "And stop backing away. I'm not about to kill you for hating him... God knows I hate him." He paused. "Or for what you did to my mom. I would have done the same, if I was in your shoes...but I am still thinking about hitting you, so don't come too close."

Draco was stunned. "You...you hate him? But you're his son!"

Xander lowered his head. "Why'd'you think I've been in hiding my whole life? Do you think mom was raising me away from him for no reason? Did you believe that she was going to teach me dark magic so I could be like the wizard who had hurt her so much?"

"A-Actually, yes."

Xander shook his head. "Wizards..." He muttered under his breath, then looked up at Draco. "I don't do Dark. In fact, I've been fighting Dark stuff for the last two and a half years. And I don't know a thing about magic apart from card tricks that my buddy at school taught me. I don't want to know either."

"She never taught you anything?" Draco's guilt was getting worse by the minute. He had assumed that the heir would be as power-crazy as the father, but here he was, as powerless as a squib. Xander shook his head. "But surely you have some abilities you want to use..."

"Nope. Mom hid them from me and even though I wanted them, ever since I was a kid, its no big deal now. I have his power. I can feel it, feel everything around me, but I don't need it. I don't want it." He studied the remnants of his drink. "All I want is to get my mom back."

"I-I..."

Xander raised hand with a sigh. "Don't go there." He said quietly. "I've been talking to you, remember? I saw you making with the guilt. I know you're sorry. You don't have to say it. It's all anyone has been saying lately."

Picking up his stool, Draco hesitantly sat back down beside Xander, although a little further away than he had before. "You're really his Heir?" Xander nodded. "You... I expected you to look...different..."

"That's the only reason I'm allowed to wander around here." The dark-haired youth murmured, a tired smile on his lips. "I look nothing like him. I look like my mom's side of the family, right down to her eyes. "

"Can you...are you a parselmouth?"

Xander made a hissing sound in response. Draco stared at him. "That's 'yes, you asshole' in Snake-ish." He elaborated.

"So why are you here?"

"To undo what you just did." Looking straight at Draco, Xander gave him a small, sad smile. Those dark eyes, combined with that quiet little smile, were the ones that had haunted him from the courtroom, and he finally believed that Xander was who he claimed. "At least me being Snake-guy's son'll have some uses."

"I want to help."

"Revenge?"

Draco nodded. "For my mother."

"Sounds good, but first," Xander gave him a measured look. "We have something to finish first..."

"We-we do?"

"We did agree to getting very drunk and having headaches, didn't we?" Xander started to pour another glass full, then noticed Draco's broken one on the floor. He looked at his tankard. "It works." He said, starting to pour from the bottle into the large, glass mug.

"You really want to get rat-arsed?"

Xander drew a deep breath and blew it out. "Look, Draco, I just found out exactly how my dad got my mom pregnant. I found out what he did to her and her family and her friends. I just want to be drunk enough so I can try to forget for a little while."

"Sounds ideal."

"You use the bottle. I'll use the cup thing."

Draco looked at the whisky bottle, which had been thrust into his hands, still a third full, then at the tankard, which was filled to the brim. "You really don't do things by halves, do you?"

"Hey, the Heir of Snakeman has no limit in budget." He clinked his tankard against the bottle. "Here's to forgetting."

"Here's to booze." Draco agreed, both of them downing a mouthful and grimacing.

"And what do you gentlemen think you're doing?" A voice asked from behind them.

***

She knew she had slept.

Or...

All right, she thought she had slept.

Maybe that was just a delusion...

Or maybe she had fainted again.

Cringing against the stone wall, the dark green slime soaking through the back of the ragged robes she was wearing, Cassandra's eyes darted around her prison again, a whimper of terror escaping her.

A rash of goosebumps rose on her skin, but she couldn't be sure if it was because of the icy draughts swirling through the bars of her cell, or because of the rising fear that was making the back of her neck prickle with unease.

He was here...

She could see his burning crimson eyes gleaming at her from the corner of the room, from beneath his hood.

He was standing there, motionless, his dark robes swaying in the wind, which whistled shrilly through cracks in the walls around her, the salty tang in the air almost reminding her trips to the sea side with her family so many years before.

Only, the scent of persistent death and blood hadn't been such a big part of the Blackpool summer trips.

Or the continuous moaning and wailing.

Exhaling a panicked breath, which appeared in a white puff of condensation, her blood-shot eyes scanned around, searching desperately for some way, any way at all, that she might be able to get past him, away from him.

How he had gotten into her cell past the Dementors, she didn't know, but he was there. He moved forward and she cringed back further, raising her arms over her head and sobbing.

"Leave me alone...leave me alone..."

"Ah, Cassandra, you know you shall never be free of me." His voice was the hiss she remembered so well. "You and your little boy, your Alexander are always mine. You know it to be true."

"No...no...no..." Repeating the words like a mantra, she pressed her eyes tightly shut as he drew closer. 

She tried to force herself to remember that it was all just an illusion, just drawn out of a painful memory, but the moment that the memory touched her, she felt herself starting to shake, so hard that her teeth clattered together.

"So smooth..." Her face scrunched up, she pressed her upper arms over her ears to try and ignore his words, her hands thrust through her matted hair and twisting into it, her eyes pressed so tightly shut that ever tears could barely slip free. "Soft..."

Even with her ears covered, her memories whispered the same words.

The words he had said the first night he had violated her.

Everything felt so real.

Panting and crying out, Cassandra tried to break away, scrambling across the stone floor of the cell, her knees and hands scraped raw, and slamming hard against the metal bars that made up the opposite wall. 

"Don't touch me!" She shrieked.

"You think that begging will stop me, you stupid little girl?" 

Lucius Malfoy moved towards her and she cowered down, trying to make herself as small as possible. His hand caught her hair, as it had so many years ago and her head snapped up as he kicked her savagely across the face.

Slumping heavily on her hands, sobbing bitterly, Cassandra turned her face towards him in time to receive the second blow that she remembered so well, before she felt his hand thrust between her thighs and cruelly squeeze her private area.

"Hot little thing, aren't you, girl?" He growled. "I wonder if the Master will let me play when he's had his fill..." He touched her in a way that made her scream in pain and shame. 

Whimpering, as she crashed back against the bars, bruises blossoming on her back, she started to rock back and forth. From the cells around her, she could hear the same and wondered what torments they were going through.

"Don't you worry about them, whore."

"Oh God..." Cassandra whimpered, scooting desperately across the floor, her hands shielding her face. "No...NO!" A pair of hands grabbed on arm, another pair taking the other, two more on her legs. "Get off me!"

"Feisty." The American accent drawled.

"Do what you like with her." She recognised the drunken slur of her husband's voice and kicked out, screaming frantically, but - even if it was just an illusion - they were still more powerful than her, as they had been thirteen years before.

Writhing on the cold stone floor, her body jerking and thrashing as her nightmarish memories rose to the surface one after the other in rapid succession, her throat quickly grew hoarse from screaming.

The violence of her reactions were causing her more damage than the real scenarios had, her body smashing against stone and metal with brutal force, as she tried to escape from the memories that were tormenting her.

Blood from cuts and scrapes on her arms, legs and face stained her pale skin, bruises lining her back and limbs, her face bruised and scratched by her own hands as she struggled to block out everything.

Her already-filthy, blood-streaked robes were getting more ragged by the second, as she scrambled here and there, desperately trying to get free, muttering and whispering to herself.

On the opposite side of the long corridor of cages, all of which held inmates at various levels of sanity, a small, shadowy figure watched the blonde witch thrashing and screaming in her cell.

Maybe it was considered an amusing joke by the Ministry to place her there, within his line of sight. 

She didn't know he was there, obviously.

She wasn't aware of anything, but the memories.

Shifting as much as he could, the raw red scabs of his face moving in a frown, he wondered what could be causing her to react so savagely. Of course, there was always the minor affair of her abduction so many years before...

Clearly, her life in hiding hadn't been as pleasant as she expected.

Never had anyone in Azkaban been affected as violently as she had by the looming, forbidding forms of the Dementors. He knew it well, just by watching her, able to focus all his attention on her.

The Dementors barely affected him. They never had, not since he had overcome his mother's death, with the death of his treacherous father. There was nothing he feared, nothing he dreaded, no happy emotions left to suck from him.

The only emotions he had left were hate, frustration and boredom.

Sooner or later, he would be liberated, or he would be strong enough to escape, but until then, he had to tolerate entertaining himself by watching his fellow-prisoners go gradually insane, many of them connected to him in some way.

Once again, his gleaming, red eyes wandered back to the woman writhing on the floor of the opposite cell.

Maybe, he mused, she would be worthy of being a Dark Lady to him, if she wasn't completely insane by the time they were liberated. 

Shifting again, the tattered scrap of blanket that covered him, agonising against the raw shell of his skin, he continued to watch her crying, Lord Voldemort and his Lady reunited, but for the bars between them.

***

"What did we tell you?"

It was almost like being in a class with McGonagall, Draco noted, staying where he had been ordered to, his back against the wall. There was the lecturing adult, looming over the recalcitrant youth.

Xander, or Alexander as it transpired he was called, sat on the end of his bed, staring down at the floor. "I just needed to take my mind off things." He replied quietly. "I don't want to have to think of my mom being in a place that's like Hell."

"Y-y-you should have asked us and we could h-have helped!" The more serious of the two men who had dragged the dark-haired boy and Draco up the one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron looked angry. "Wh-what if someone had learned who-who-who you are, while you were there?"

"Ripper," The other man, this one not wearing a suit, but a maroon shirt and black trousers, with a mass of curly, sandy hair laid a hand on the other's shoulder. "Leave off. Let me talk to him."

"Ethan..."

"Rupert, please." 

With a sigh, the first man removed his glasses and started to clean them, waving the other one forward. The second approached the bed where Alexander was sitting, looking utterly dejected.

"Alex." Squatting down, he looked up at the boy.

"Xander." The boy replied.

The one called Ethan nodded. "Right, Xander. Can you do me a favour and listen to me to stop Giles whining?" His hands resting on his knees, Ethan sighed. His tone was persuasive, probably what a shrink would sound like. "Look, I know this is hard for you. It's hard for me as well."

"How can it be hard for you?" Tear-filled brown eyes lifted to him and the squatting man looked away, his own face crumpled in pain. "How can you possibly know what I'm going through?" 

"I...I just know." He gritted out. Draco's eyes widened, recognising the expression on the man's face. It was the expression he had only ever seen on his father's face, when his mother had entered a room.

Apparently Xander didn't recognise it though. 

"How?" He demanded, glaring at the sandy-haired man. "Gimme some back up to the words here. My mom is in the wizard's prison, probably going crazy and you..."

"I love her." It was little more than a whisper.

Alexander jerked back. "Wh-what?"

Ethan laughed tightly. "I love your mother." He answered. 

"You...do?"

"I have done since we were at school together." He looked down at his hands, then back at Alexander. "If she wasn't married to that American bastard you call dad, I would have married her myself."

Alexander was staring at Ethan, a look of revelation on his face. "You...you were in Sunnydale..." He said, like a child who had finally understood a joke. "Sometimes when I came home and she was happy, she said it was because she'd been thinking of you...it was because you had visited, wasn't it?"

A tired smile crossed the man's face. "Or I had got in touch with the silly tart." He nodded. "Your mother is one of the most incredible witches in the world. She might not have huge amounts of power, but she has strength by the bucketload."

"But..." Alexander seemed hesitant to ask. "But will she be strong enough to get through being in Azkaban?" He swallowed hard, before continuing, his voice shaking. "I...I usually get feelings. Y'know... intuition...especially about important things but I-I haven't had any about mom..."

"Your mother is-is-is strong, Xander."

Ethan, though, had lowered his head. "Not for Azkaban, Ripper." He replied quietly, his voice as unsteady as Xander's. His green eyes rose to Giles'. "Voldemort made her trade her body for her family...then he killed them..." 

"Bloody hell..." Giles and Malfoy both uttered the words.

"And there's a whole lot more fun of the not variety." Alexander said, looking up at Giles apologetically. "Dad...I mean, the guy I called dad...he used to beat her up...I-I think he raped her as well...and some of his friends hurt her too..." He looked down, picking the knee of his jeans. "She used to lock herself in the bathroom...I think that was her safe place."

On the far side of the room, Draco sank down against the wall, his legs unable to hold him upright any longer. He had sent a woman who had lived Hell every day straight to the Dementors.

Giles' was leaning heavily against the wooden dresser, staring at Alexander in disbelief, as if he couldn't believe it had been kept from him. "W-w-why didn't you tell us, Xander?" He asked. "We-we could have helped."

Alexander shook his head. "Mom wouldn't want that." He said quietly. "I used to beg her to call the cops, but she said she could handle it." He sighed. "After my real dad, I guess she thought she could handle anything..."

"She said something about one of Voldemort's boys trying to get her before she was pregnant too and the wizard that kidnapped her..." Ethan's green eyes darted to Draco, who was looking grey. "I think it might have been someone else..."

"No..." The blond wizard whispered. "It...it was probably my father." He lowered his head. "Xander, I'm sorry...as if sending her there wasn't bad enough...I'd never have done that to my own mother..."

Alexander made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "You couldn't know, Draco."

"We have to get her out of there." Giles said determinedly, replacing his spectacles.

Ethan nodded. "Our meeting with the wizarding justice board is in half an hour." He said, after glancing at his watch. "We just have to wait for our last two witnesses to show up."

"I'm coming, too."

Ethan scowled at the boy, looking very much like he would happily tear the boy's head off and use it as a bowling ball. "You're the one that put her in there, you little prick and now, you want to get her out?"

"Ethan, don't." Alexander said quietly. "We need all the back-up we can get."

An uncomfortable silence fell, several minutes passing before there was a knock at the door.

"Who's there?"

"Snape."

Crossing the floor, Ethan opened the door, motioning for the Potions Teacher and his companion to enter, neither of them noticing the blond boy sitting on the floor near the door.

"Good to see you again, Sev. And you..." 

The smaller robed figure wasn't paying attention to him. Instead, she had pushed her cowl down and was staring at Alexander, who stood as tall as, if not taller than, Snape, eyes wide.

"You're him, aren't you?" She said in a tremulous voice. "You're Alex."

Alexander nodded and immediately found himself with an armful of small, red-haired witch, who reminded him a whole lot of Willow. And what made it worse was that small, red-haired Willow-like was crying.

"Hey," Awkwardly patting her back, he looked down at her. "Don't cry! I'm not that bad, am I?" Ginny just sniffed and hugged him tightly, leaving Alexander with a very confused look on his face. "Uh...Ethan? What did I do?"

Ethan smiled. "She knows your mother, Xander." He explained, the girl clinging to the young man. "Ginny became almost a surrogate daughter to her, after your father abused her."

"After my dad abused my mom?"

"No, Xander." Malfoy spoke up quietly. "After your father abused _her_."

Snape and Ginny both spun around at his voice, staring at Draco in horror, the girl flinching against Alexander, who was looking down at her with sympathy and pain etched in his eyes.

"What is he doing here?" Snape's voice was ugly with fury.

"I asked him here." Alexander was the one to answer Snape's question. "And he's staying, okay? We have an arrangement to keep." That said, he turned his attention to the girl in his arms. "Um...hi down there..." Ginny looked up at him, her brown eyes large. "Yeah... hi..." He tried to smile, but it faltered. "Is…is he right? Did my…my father hurt you?"

Ginny nodded, lowering her head.

"Um…" He touched her on the head gently. "Yeah…girl-down-there…" Her eyes came back to him, rimmed with tears. "I…" He sighed, shaking his head. "I just kinda wanted to say sorry for what my dad did to you...I know it won't mean much, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry..."

Severus Snape was staring at the youth incredulously. "You are truly telling me that this boy is the son of You-Know-Who?" He directed the question to Ethan, who was smiling proudly at his Godson.

"Why does everyone have so much trouble believing I'm Snakeman's son?"

"You're nice to people." Ginny whispered. "Y-you didn't hurt me..."

Giles nodded. "You're a decent human being, Xander." 

"You apologise for crimes that aren't yours." Snape added.

"You bought me a drink." All eyes went to Malfoy, who grinned apologetically with a helpless shrug. "Um...that was meant to stay inside my head, but it's a valid point. You-Know-Who was a stingy git."

Alexander shook his head and started to laugh. "And _this_ is why we keep Draco Malfoy around." He said between chuckles. "To make sure we have laughing-at-totally-the-wrong-moment since we don't have Willow-babble."

"Willow-babble?" Snape looked dubious. "Is that some kind of narcotic substance?"

Both Giles and Alexander snorted with laughter.

"And that would be a big no." Alexander replied. "Willow is a friend, who babbles and makes a lot of accidental funnies, because she's nervous, ergo Willow-babble for laughs-at-bad-times. It's usually when we're in a easily-be-killed scenario."

"Could someone please translate whatever he just said?" Malfoy inquired.

"You wanna make me go Dark-Lord on you, Malfoy?" Draco paled and Alexander looked surprised, when Ginny immediately pulled back from him and Snape's jaw tightened. "Whoa! Whoa! Kidding!"

"That is really not a good thing to joke about." Severus said grimly.

Alexander looked at the girl who had just stepped away from him and closer to the creepy-looking Snape. The panic he had seen in her eyes had apparently finally brought home to him just how feared his father was.

"Uh..." Looking around, he shrugged. "So, what's the plan? When do we go and bust mom out of Azkaban?"

Ethan glanced at his watch again. "We could go down now. The Justice people have a room downstairs, if I remember right..."

"And we do what exactly? I walk in and say 'I am Alexander, son of Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin. You jailed my mother. Prepare to die.'? Something tells me that won't go down to well with the panel of judges."

"I would suggest missing out the 'Prepare to die' train of thought." Ethan said. "But other than that, what else can we do? We need to show them that you're nothing like him, tell them what we know...it might mean all of us being under veritaserum..."

"Huh?"

"Truth potion." Snape elaborated.

Alexander shrugged. "I can do that. I don't have anything to lie about." His eyes went from face to face around the room. "What about you guys? If you wanna back out, now would be the time to do it."

No one moved.

Not even Malfoy, despite suspicious looks from Snape and Ginny.

"Okay." Clapping his hands together, Alexander started towards the door. "Let's mount up and save my mom from the overgrown zombie-monk-happy-suckage-demon-guys." As he opened the door, he glanced back at Giles. "G-Man, do you think Buffy could kill them?"

"Dementors?"

"Well, she killed Death before..."

The Watcher looked pensive. "I would have to research it."

Alexander smiled broadly. "There's the Giles we all know and fear." He looked out into the Hall. "And nerves start kicking in right about now..."

"Don't worry, Xander, they can't do anything to you."

"Seeing as how I've never been in the wizard-world before?" 

Ethan shook his head. "Seeing as if they try to lay a finger on a single fibre of your body, I'll tear their god-damned arms off and shove them up their arses." He smiled a strange, determined smile. "No one is taking you away from me or your mother, Alex, even if I have to rip them limb from limb to keep you safe."

"Force..." Alexander pulled a face. "Good...great...suddenly just walking in there and telling them to prepare to die is seeming like a good idea..."


	20. Chapter 20 : The Plea

Set - immediately after chapter 19

Notes: We're getting close to the end now. This is the second-last chapter and all loose ends are going to be tied up soon. 

For those of you who have lost track, a witch called Cassandra was blackmailed into carrying Voldemort's heir (her family's life for a kid). Vollie went to the Potters. He go baibai! Cassandra was left with the child and now, after Vol's second rise and fall, she has finally been caught by the Ministry, which has sent her to Azkaban. 

Meanwhile, her son who has grown to be none other than Xander Harris has been told the truth. He's on his way to rescue his mum, with help from her lover (Ethan Rayne), Giles, Snape, Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy.

Will he succeed?

Will they triumph?

Will I ever learn to write notes properly?

Also, for the record – the final chapter should be posted tomorrow night. Oooh! Isn't it everso exciting?

_________________________

Chapter Twenty - The Plea

Despite the absurd hour of the evening, nine o'clock at night, after all the offices had closed, the conference room in the lower floor of The Leaky Cauldron was packed with Ministry wizards and Aurors. A couple of Hogwarts teachers were also present, Professor McGonagall among them.

Word had come in from the outside that someone wanted to make a plea for the mother of the Heir of Voldemort.

Not only was that a rarity, but the fact that it had been backed-up and substantiated by Professor Flitwick, a teacher of Hogwarts, meant that it was taken seriously. For an experienced wizard like him to stand with the ones making the plea...

Benjamin Stone was actually worried.

He didn't want to be the one to admit it, but there was something going on here that was far beyond what he had imagined, when he had heard there was an Heir of the Dark Lord.

Part of him wished that the Dementors were still allowed to ply their kisses to the guilty. It would have taken away all the trouble of this additional trial. It would have saved energy and time.

Unfortunately, after an incident some years ago, when Bartemius Crouch Junior had been given the kiss, before he had come to a trial and testified, the Dementors' power was reduced to that which they held in Azkaban. 

Stone tapped the tips of his forefingers together.

It would have been so much easier...

He shook his head wearily as he thought it.

The Head Auror was seated at the end of the long, rectangular conference table that stood opposite the door, half a dozen of his people sitting at his end, including Black and Wood, although he didn't know why he had allowed the two most...

Well, he wouldn't entirely call them dubious, but Black had a violent enmity with Severus Snape, the chief witness cited in the list of those supporting the plea, and Wood had been strangely distracted since they had capture Bones.

Sighing, he glanced around the room again. While it wasn't exactly a small room, it felt strangely enclosed and claustrophobic with the number of wizards and witches huddled against the walls.

At every sound from the hall, every person in the room went rigid, the communal intake of breath seeming to suck the air from the room, all eyes flicking to the door, only for the indrawn breath to be released when silence fell again. 

Stone was convinced that, if he had tried to, he could have sliced through the atmosphere with a knife. 

He had known that the thought of a Heir would trigger terror, but even the sound of what might be the Heir...

Only Voldemort had ever caused such a reaction.

It would be interesting to see what would happen once the little party to give the plea arrived.

Hanging torches were suspended over the table, illuminating it, while leaving most of the sidelines of the room in darkness, which made the whispers and rustles passing among the two dozen other witches and wizards seems much eerier.

The dark wooden panels that lined the bottom half of the wall shone in the flickering flames of the torches, empty picture frames hanging on the creamy strip of the upper walls, the residents of the frames exiled for the evening.

Leaning back in his seat, Stone scratched the thick scars on his right cheek. 

He knew why the frames had been emptied.

Like many of the others in the room, part of him had a deep, uneasy suspicion that the person coming to make the plea for the mother would be none other than the Heir himself, which was why there were so many people from high ranks in the ladder of importance in the magical world present.

Had the pictures been filled, the residents could reveal the news to the outside world, before the Ministry even knew all the details.

He and the half dozen Aurors were supplemented by some of the more powerful wizards and witches from the Ministry, who were making it clear that they had their wands and weren't afraid to use them.

Even the Minister of Magic had decided to make an appearance. 

Halfway down the table, Cornelius Fudge was seated.

Somehow, although Stone couldn't help wondering about that, the once-stout wizard had managed to keep a grip on his role as Minister of Magic throughout the chaos of the Dark Lord's return and his second fall.

He looked awful.

The weight had dropped from his body, leaving the impression of a rapidly deflated balloon, his face sallow and gaunt, his eyes flicking this way and that suspiciously, as if he expected everyone present of treachery.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to come out of his office, from what Stone had heard. 

Apparently, he had become paranoid in the wake of the discovery that dozens of his loyal workers were, in fact, drones for the Dark Lord and even with Voldemort's defeat, he was still convinced that everyone was out to get him.

The blackly amusing part of that theory was that Voldemort had never given a damn about Fudge. He had known that the Minister of Magic was a bumbling imbecile and had thought it fitting that the wizard was the one in control.

Now, the fact that someone wanted to liberate the mother of the Heir of the Dark Lord had been enough to get him out of the office, albeit nervously, to make certain that Bones remained where she was.

They were simply waiting for the group, who were coming to plead for the witch.

The far end of the table was empty except for the tiny figure of Professor Flitwick, who was perched on a large pile of cushions on the chair. Normally, he was a cheerful little wizard, but not today.

He had never looked more serious: his mouth was a thin line, his forehead marred with a frown, his small hands gripping his wand, which was laid on the table in front of him, his eyes moving around the room as if daring them to challenge him.

Stone couldn't be sure if the white-haired Professor knew what was actually going to happen, or if he knew as much as the rest of them: that a group were coming to the aid of the Mother of the Heir and he was their voice of authority. 

Professor Sprout was hovering near by. She seemed torn between sitting down with him, or staying out of the way. After all, Bones had been one of her first pupils, when she had been given the exalted role of Hufflepuff House Mistress.

A rap at the door made everyone jump.

Standing up, a twisting sensation in his stomach making him feel horribly nauseous, Stone cleared his throat and barked out. "Come in."

The door seemed to open in slow-motion, every single person in the room holding their breath. Stone's heart was beating faster than he believed it possible. It felt like it was going to tear right through his sternum and his stomach was still roiling. 

The first person to enter the room was one he recognised, his mouth falling open. A face from his schooldays was definitely not what he had in mind, when he had agreed to hear the plea.

Tall and lanky, his curly, sandy hair a lot greyer than Stone remembered, the exiled Wizard looked around, muttering something back over his shoulder to whoever it was that was with him.

"R-Rayne?" 

The wizard's eyes came back around, looking up to the head of the table. "Well, well, if it isn't little Benji Stone..." The tone in the man's voice wasn't the jovial one that the Auror remembered either. "Been a long time, mate..."

"What are you doing here?"

"Me? I'm here for the plea," Ethan Rayne smiled, but it was lacking in humour and warmth. "I'm the Leader of the few, the faithful, the band of brothers..."

"And a sister."

The female voice came from behind him and he seemed to take that as his cue to enter the room. There had never been quite such an odd combination of people in one place as far as Stone could remember.

Rayne was at the fore, clad in black trousers and a deep red shirt. He looked more of a muggle than a wizard, except for the wand stuck in the belt of his trousers. He was followed by another muggle-dressed man, who made Stone want to whimper.

"Giles."

"Stone."

"You know them?" Sirius Black hissed.

Stone nodded slightly. "School friends," he replied, his voice choked.

It had been nearly twenty-three years since he had seen either of the elder men, who had been his inspiration, before they had been thrown out of the school, Hogwarts, for experimentation with demons.

They had, despite their rebellious streaks, been exceptional students in their fields and he really didn't want to have to go face-to-face with them.

The next figure to appear made Black start to rise, a low growl sounding in his throat. Stone's hand on his shoulder pushed him back down, the Head Auror staring at Severus Snape, clad in his regulation black.

Stone felt sweat beading on his brow.

This wasn't a good sign.

A petite, red-haired female was next.

Virginia Weasley.

"Isn't that...?" 

"Ginny?"

"Weasley...isn't...can't be..."

The whispers rushed around the observers.

If she had been a shock, that was nothing compared to the tall, slim, blonde man with the pale, pointed face who stepped behind her.

"Malfoy!" Wood and Black were both on their feet. The young Malfoy boy took a startled step back and he actually did look frightened, a hand on his shoulder from behind seeming to calm him.

Ethan took a step forward, hazel-green eyes flashing dangerously. 

"Sit down, Dog-boy. You too, kid," he growled low in his throat, his eyes suggesting that any move they made would be very stupid. Giles' expression screamed the same warning without words. "The boy stands with us."

Shooting a malevolent glare at the two older wizards, Black sat back down. Wood, though, looked from one face to the other, then - to the confusion of Stone - he actually smiled at them.

"I knew you wouldn't give up on her."

"Wood!" Black snapped.

Wood cast a glance across the table at Black, whose handsome face was ugly with hate and anger. "Right, Black," he murmured, sitting down, looking towards the two older wizards at the door expectantly.

The sixth and final figure to enter the room was one of the oddest that any of the witches and wizards present had seen, and that was really saying a lot. Or at least his clothes were.

They were muggle clothes, but he was wearing at least half a dozen pieces on his upper body, in different lengths and colours. 

Black hair flopped in loose strands over a high, smooth forehead, emphasising the young man's striking face, good-natured brown eyes looking around the room with apparent interest. 

"Oh, you can all breathe again," he said, giving them a goofy half-grin. "Can't be good for you to hold you breath for that long."

It was like he had hit a glass sheet of tension with a hammer.

The silence crumbled away, as whispers were exchanged, looks passing between people, most centrally going to the dark-haired boy, who didn't seem aware of how... relaxed he appeared compared to his companions.

"So...you're all here for the plea thing, huh?" 

A Yankee Muggle.

All right, Stone noted in the back of his mind, this was beyond bizarre.

The youth was talking, ignoring the pointed looks of Rayne and Giles.

"They told me I should tag along," he grinned affectionately at them. "I think they wanted someone who made them look kinda respectable and proper and hey! You don't get much more opposite that than me..."

A few people chuckled.

The boy certainly had a gift with lightening the atmosphere. 

Although he looked exhausted, pale and drawn, he seemed to like the fact that he was making those around him smile, flashing that unassuming smile in the direction of the people who had laughed.

"Aren't you the boy who was seen at the mother's arrest?"

The smile on the young man's face wavered slightly, then he nodded. "You got me, Stone-guy," He pointed at the Auror. "And I gotta say you did a pretty good job in finding her, considering how she was hiding."

"And why, pray tell, have you been included in these proceedings?"

Brown eyes met Stone's, aged beyond their years, experience and pain weighed in equal measures in them. "I fight the Dark side," he replied simply. "It hurt my mom and my friends. I'm here because of them."

"You?" Black snorted. "A muggle?"

Those same clear eyes met Black's blue ones. 

"Yes, me," the boy said. There was no malice or anger in his voice. "I help the Slayer." Hisses signified that at least a dozen people had drawn in a breath through their teeth. "I fight demons," he paused, then smiled a little. "Get knocked around a lot too..."

"The Slayer...you know the Slayer?" Stone's hand spread on the surface of the table, his eyes still on this odd boy.

"Met-slash-flirted with three of them. Buffy, Kendra and Faith," he looked like he was about to smile, but it faded. "Kinda wish I could do more to help them, but hey, I'm the zeppo..."

Stone had to fight to keep himself upright. 

This boy...he knew the Slayer? And her successor and the one that followed?

It was absurd. 

Utterly absurd. 

A muggle, helping a Slayer.

Muggles weren't meant to know of her existence.

"You really know the Slayer?" Even Malfoy looked impressed.

"On a best-buddy level."

"Xander, would you please, shut up?" Giles hissed. "We're here for a reason."

The boy, Xander, if that was his name, grinned that infectious lop-sided grin again, his dark brown eyes twinkling, although there did seem to be something shadowing them. "Sure, G-Man."

Fanning out around the head of the opposite end of the table, Ethan Rayne took a seat beside Flitwick at the very end, making certain that the dark-haired boy was seated beside him.

Snape was just around the corner of the table from the muggle with Virginia Weasley by his side, looking white and nervous. Opposite them, Giles and Malfoy sat, looking equally nervous.

Slowly, Stone sat back down, mentally counting to ten.

This was a vast amount to deal with.

Not only was the Head of his House from school standing opposite him, but two of his mentors, someone he considered an ally, someone that he viewed as an enemy and the daughter of an old friend.

And the strange muggle boy who claimed to know the Slayer(s).

He couldn't say what it was about the boy, but the youth seemed to give off a wave of friendliness, despite looking utterly absurd. He seemed like the kind of young man that you could meet in any pub and chat with without even knowing who he was.

It went without saying that his nature was infectious.

For him to be the one to break the uncomfortable silence, to get people talking and moving and...well, yes, breathing. 

There was something about him that made people feel comfortable.

Stone had met very few people who could win other witches and wizards over to them so easily, but this unassuming, cheerful, rumpled muggle boy seemed to just flow with generous, good energy.

Even though he had no idea who the muggle was, he found himself liking the boy.

He also knew that if there was anyone that a Slayer would be drawn to, it would be this boy. He...felt like the embodiment of goodness, so different from anything she probably fought and she would probably find peace in him. 

"We had best get started."

"Yes," Rayne was the one to stand up, his voice shaking a little. "We're here to plead for the release of Cassandra Bones."

Stone tried to keep his expression neutral. "You are aware that she was found guilty of all the crimes she was accused of, Rayne?" he said, feeling sweat gathering on the smooth surface of the table beneath his warm palm.

"She was found guilty, but she wasn't guilty of any of it."

"She was a willing consort of the Dark Lord, Rayne. She bore him a child," Sirius Black growled. "She admitted it under the influence of polyjuice potion. You know that's a crime."

"It's a crime, unless there is a reason behind it."

"And what possible reason could she have other than getting power and being his favourite whore?"

"Why you filthy son of a fuc..." Rayne looked ready to leap across the table and grab Black around the neck, to strangle him with his bare hands, his eyes flashing, his face going scarlet with outrage.

"Ethan," Again, it was the muggle boy who spoke, one hand coming up and touching the fuming wizard on the arm. "Calm down," Brown eyes looked across at Black, who seemed to shrink back in his seat. "He doesn't know. None of them do. Losing your temper won't make it any easier."

"Alex..."

"Ethan," The boy looked up at him. "Please. Killing and maiming aren't of the good, even if he did insult her. I should know. I've seen it."

By the light of torches above him, his young face looked so worn and world-weary that even Stone found himself wishing that he could give the boy some kind of help for whatever was causing him to look so emotionally drained.

"Right," Ethan's word was more of a snarl.

"G-Man, can you take over?" Brown eyes moved to the opposite side of the table, where the other older wizard sat. "Something tells me Ethan isn't about to be Captain Sensible about this."

"I-I-I'm afraid I can't, Xander. He's the one who knows what exactly happened."

The youth sighed. 

"What about you, creepy-black-wearing guy?" Snape looked startled that the boy had spoken to him. "Any chance you could shine some light on just why...uh...Bones, is it? Yeah, can you give us a reason why this...Bones should be released?"

"Hold on a moment," Stone nodded towards the goblets that were sitting in front of each of them. "Before you continue, perhaps you should take some veritaserum..."

"Still don't trust me, Stone?"

"Do you blame him, Snape?" Black's voice was bitter.

The muggle looked at Black, a strange expression in his eyes. "Something tells me you don't like our creepy-black-wearing guy much," he murmured. "Kinda reminds me of me and a dislike I had for someone...neither of you is a vampire with a soul, right? If you are...God, don't even make me go there."

"Vampire with a...soul?"

More than half the bemused eyes were on the boy.

"Oh, right, you probably don't know that kinda thing. My bad...so, creepy-black-wearing guy, anything you can give me to work with?" Stone cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah, after we drink the...hey, how do we know it's not poison so you can kill us all and not bother with this whole trial thing? You don't want the mother free, so it'd be a lot easier on..."

"Xander..."

"I give you my word that it isn't poison," Stone stated. "It's a refined version of the usual truth potion. You will remain coherent throughout the questioning and in full control of all of your faculties."

The muggle studied him. "Have you taken some? I mean, if we're telling the truth, its kinda only really fair if it's potion all round. And does it taste gross? I tend to get sick from gross tasting stuff..."

Malfoy's shaking laugh made the muggle look at him. "And you said I provided babble, Xander?"

"Shut up, Draco," A finger was pointed at the blond. "I've good reason to be nervous so I can babble if I want," It was said with a small, tired smile, though. "Don't make me go primeval on your white ass."

Draco Malfoy returned the smile with one of his own, which had never been seen before. It wasn't the standard and infamous Malfoy smirk. Instead, it was a quiet, genuine little smile. "Arse-bandit."

"Butt-monkey."

"Hard to believe that they're adults, isn't it?" Giles sighed, pushing the goblet in front of the muggle towards him. "Xander, we are rather short on time, so would you please refrain from insulting our allies and drink your potion."

"Yes, daddy G-Man."

"And refrain from calling me that. Ever."

Xander merely smiled, then drank down the contents of the goblet in front him, as Snape did the same. He pulled a face. "That tastes like cat pee!" 

"Xan..."

A hand was raised and pointed around at the committee. "And don't even ask how I know what cat pee tastes like. It's a long and very unpleasant story I don't want to remember right now."

Again, despite the tension in the room, several people laughed behind their hands.

"So, Snape-guy was about to spill his guts...though not literally cos ew! Gut-spillage is definitely not something I would want to do as a hobby."

"Xander, would you please shut up for one moment?" The boy nodded, licking the inside of his mouth, as if trying to get rid of the taste of the potion. "Severus, can you tell us what you know of the mother of the Heir?"

"Yes," his voice was quiet and steady, but could be heard in the tight silence that had fallen. "Cassandra Bones was kidnapped along with twenty other witches of child-bearing age. Voldemort desired an Heir. He selected her to carry it for him."

Leaning on the arm of his chair, Stone's eyes narrowed. "Did she accept this task?"

"She did."

Black muttered something about a filthy whore, Rayne on his feet again, only to be hauled back down by the boy.

"Look, buddy," Xander looked across at Black. "Do you mind? We're trying to get the truth out and not piss off my God-father so he actually rips off your arms and legs in a temper tantrum, which I'm pretty sure he could do right now. Could you maybe, I dunno, be quiet?"

Black's lips thinned, his eyes flashing. "I only say what I see, boy."

"Were you there?"

"Er...pardon?"

Xander's gaze was on him and it was unwavering. "Were you there?" he repeated in that calm voice. "Did you see what happened?"

"Well...not exactly..."

"Okay," Xander looked around the room inquiringly. "Would anyone else like to join angry-guy here in the we-didn't-see-what-happened-but-we'll-put-the-witch-in-Azkaban-anyway club?"

The silence was frightening.

It hung in the air, looks exchanged warily.

Somehow, the boy had just pointed to a damn big hole in their legal system.

It seemed like an eternity before the boy spoke again.

"Go on, creepy-black-wearing guy."

"You need to ask him a question, Xander."

"Oh! Right...okay, Snape-guy, tell me this. Did Cassandra Bones want to carry the Heir of Voldemort?" Several people flinched and Xander rolled his eyes. "You guys, it's just a name."

Snape started speaking again. "She didn't want anything to do with it. She would have preferred death. He used her surviving family against her."

"He did what?" The Head Auror sat up a little straighter.

"In order to make Bones join into a union with him, Voldemort told her he would spare her family. She agreed to the trade. He had them killed anyway. She didn't find out until the Dark Lord fell."

"Good God..." Stone's face had bleached of all colour. He was about to ask why she hadn't mentioned it at the trial, when he remembered the dosage of truth potion she had been forced to ingest. Only direct answers had been allowed. She hadn't had a chance.

"You're saying that Cassandra Bones wasn't a Dark Sider?" The question from Black was directed at Snape, but the potion seemed to be having an affect on the young muggle as well.

"Well, duh! She hid for all the time that he was back. She never returned to his side, even when he could have given her power and glory."

Stone felt a prickle of hope. A flaw in their argument. "Snape, did Bones return to her Master?"

"It appeared so, but I was later told I was mistaken."

Stone's brow wrinkled. His eyes turned to Malfoy, who sighed, then picked up the goblet in front of him and drank. A moment later, as his chin dropped to his chest, Stone directed the question at him. "Malfoy, did you see Bones?"

"She returned to him a year after he returned. She went to his bed for one night, then left to raise the Heir."

The Auror gave them a triumphant look. "I'm afraid that ruins your arguments."

"The Hell it does..." Ethan whispered. The wizard's face had gone a sickly shade of grey-green and Stone saw Snape's eyes widen, as if he knew something about why the other wizard was acting thus.

"Ethan...?" Giles was the one to begin the question, looking as confused as Ginny, Flitwick and Xander.

"What have you done, my boy?" Flitwick whispered, staring at his former pupil. His face contorted as if he understood what was causing Ethan to look so unsteady. A small hand touched the tall wizard's arm. "Good God, Rayne..."

Snape shook his head at Rayne. "Ethan, you don't have to..."

"I do, Sev. We both know it," Rayne reached for the goblet and downed the potion, grimacing. He waited for a few minutes, then looked directly at Stone, his hand locked - white-knuckled - around the goblet. If he gripped it much harder, the metal stem would splinter. "All right... hit me... same questions... whatever you like... be prepared to grab a bucket..."

"Rayne, did Cassandra Bones return to her Master at any point in his second rise?"

"No."

"Can you explain how she was seen there?"

Green eyes closed in pain. "It was me."

"Good God..." Flitwick whispered again, his hand gripping Ethan's wrist, his own eyes closing in sympathy.

"What the fu...?" Black was silenced by a wave from Stone.

"What do you mean?"

Rayne's eyes slowly opened. He seemed oblivious to the shock and horror on the faces of those at the head of the table with him. "We brewed polyjuice potion and transfigured it into pill form. I took it and took her appearance, then went to him."

"Bloody hell..." Giles whispered. 

Stone leaned forward, staring at the wizard. "You mean to say that in the form of Cassandra Bones, you went to Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Rayne stared back at him, in a way that said he thought Stone was deeply stupid for asking. "Cassie was terrified of seeing Voldemort again. We knew we had to stop him looking for her and the only way she could do that was to tell him herself."

"And you went as her."

"Again, yes."

"How did you convince him?"

"I..."

"Ethan, you don't need to say it," Snape cut in, reaching passed Xander to grab the wizard's other hand. Flitwick nodded, his face white. "It...it was enough that you had to do it."

Rayne smiled a tired smile. "It'll let them see what it was really like, Sev," he said quietly. "And in answer to your question, I let him use my borrowed form for sex as a test of my loyalty to him."

Several people gasped. 

Someone retched wetly in the shadows.

Even Stone looked stunned and he had seen and dealt with a lot.

A mirthless smile spread on Ethan's face as he looked at Sirius Black. "I suppose you'll want to arrest me for being a consort of the Dark Lord now, eh?" Black's face was white as a sheet and he looked nauseous.

"How...?"

"Well, he had this bit that stuck up and I had a hole I don't normally have..."

Someone else immediately vomited at that image.

Xander touched Ethan on the arm. "Did...did mom know about that?" he asked. He looked as pale as Black did, staring up at the wizard with hero-worship and awe in his brown eyes. "Did she know what you did to save her?"

"She didn't have a clue about it, Xander."

"Mom...?" Stone came to his feet and it seemed that everything in the room had slowed down. His finger rose and pointed at the boy seated at the end of the table, between Snape and Rayne. "You!"

"Shit!"

Ethan's hand went to his wand, as he moved to step in front of the dark-haired boy, but Xander shook his head. 

"No, Ethan," he said firmly, standing up. "It's time they know and if they want to blast me to pieces, let them." He spread his arms out. "I never got to introduce myself. Alexander LaVelle Harris, only son of Cassandra Bones and the one son and heir of Voldemort." His goofy grin was flashed at them. "Nice to meet you."

A stunned silence fell.

While Stone - and probably quite a few of the others - had been certain they would attack the heir on sight if they saw him, everyone seemed so utterly shocked by this revelation about the boy...

The goofy, happy, smiling, normal and utterly wonderful-for-the-soul boy...

Voldemort's Heir...

"You don't look like the photograph..." Stone said lamely.

Ethan released a sigh. "Do you honestly think Bones would be stupid enough to send a picture of the real Heir? This boy is the Heir of the Dark Lord and I should know, because I delivered him myself."

Giles, Malfoy and Snape were all on their feet at the sides of the table, along with the shell-shocked Flitwick, wands gripped in their hands, but not raised, in case anyone tried anything.

"Good Lord..."

The stunned silence was back.

"Uh...is this good or bad?"

Ethan didn't reply. 

He had dropped heavily down in the chair, as if stunned that he had just revealed everything. His head was buried in his folded arms on the table and his thin shoulders were shaking. He was either crying hard or he had finally cracked and was laughing like a loony.

"You...you can't be..." Black whispered, shaking his head. "You...no..."

That seemed to be the general sentiment.

"He's under the power of veritaserum," a witch whispered from further into the room. "He can't be lying."

Xander, though, was distracted by Ethan. "Ethan? C'mon...don't cry!" He bent and wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders, hugging him. "What would mom say, you big baby? You want me to give you the puppy-dog-face? You know I can do it!"

That certainly wasn't what anyone had expected of the Heir.

Snake features, yes. A desire for world domination, yes. A sunny-faced young man who could light up a room with a smile and who tried to comfort people who were upset...definitely not...

Ethan lifted his face, tears streaked on his cheeks. "You are a bloody marvel," he rasped, hugging Xander fiercely as he came to his feet. "Now, if anyone has the knobblers to take a pot-shot at my God-son..."

"How can you guarantee he won't attack us?" Stone knew, he just knew by the boy's innate...goodness, that he wouldn't attack them, but he had to ask.

"One, no wand," Xander was the one who replied, Ethan's body half-shielding his one. "Two, kinda have an aversion to the whole magic thing. Makes me nauseous, so I leave it to people who know how to do it. Three, I don't like violence. Four, the whole working-with-the-Slayer-against-darkness thing."

"You...were serious?"

"Yup," Xander nodded. "Non-magic muggle-style helper of the Slayer present and correct...kinda figures why I get beat up a lot."

Then, someone laughed.

It was Wood.

And it wasn't just a quiet chuckle.

It was real, hysterical, full-throated, body-shaking belly-laugh.

"Good grief, this is priceless!" A few looks went to him, suggesting they thought he was utterly mad. "Don't you see...the Dark lord...he has an Heir...who is a completely normal kid! A normal squib kid..." He doubled over again, clutching his gut as if he were in pain. "A normal squib kid who fights the bloody dark side! A kid who fights what his own father creates!"

Someone else tried smother a chuckle, but it came out as a snort. 

That broke them.

Laughter surged around the room, the sheer tension giving way the cathartic purge as they realised that Voldemort still believed his son was an evil little fiend who would take on his legacy.

"You know," Snape murmured. "I would pay good money to see Voldemort's face, when this news was broken to him..."

"You mean...he doesn't know?"

"Never seen the kid." Rayne affirmed, still keeping Xander shielded by his body.

Xander peered over Ethan's shoulder, brown eyes anxious. "So could I go and get my mom back now, since you kinda, y'know, sent her to jail for being abused and tormented by a raving psycho?"

"Absolutely not!" Cornelius Fudge's voice shrilled out.

"Aw, shite..." Wood groaned. "I hoped he might have died of the shock." 

"I doubt it would make much difference," Snape muttered, raising a snicker from Ginny, who swatted his arm.

The Minister of Magic flashed an angry look at Snape. "Shut up, you traitor!" His wand came up, shaking slightly, and pointed at Ethan. "Stand aside!"

"I'll do no such bloody thing!"

"Stand aside or I'll curse you, by thunder!"

"Cornelius..."

"Back, Stone! He's the Heir of You-Know-Who! He can't be left alive!"

Ethan's eyes were flashing with anger and his hand was close to grabbing his wand, but he didn't see a pair of hands coming at him from behind, until he was pushed to one side with enough force to knock both him and Flitwick to the floor.

Xander moved forward to where his Godfather had been standing, his hands spread - empty - by his sides. "You got me," he said, calm. "I'm Snakeman's kid. I'm the one who could bring him back. Reign of terror, blah, blah, blah..."

"I should kill you!"

"Xander!" Draco lunged towards him. 

He looked like he was prepared to leap in front of the Heir to defend him - which was, in itself, a very bizarre thing for a Malfoy to do, but he owed the younger man for what he had done to his mother - but something seemed to push him back. 

The blond staggered, blinking. What the...?

The dark-haired boy was standing, calm as can be. 

"You know what I was doing three nights ago?" he asked, as if oblivious to the wand levelled at his chest. His voice was calm, comforting. "I was standing beside a bomb, under my school, with an undead guy who could defuse it, while my friends were trying to seal the Hellmouth."

A few puzzled looks were exchanged. 

Giles was listening and looking utterly bemused by what he was hearing. He had never heard this particular little tale, but he couldn't help wondering why Xander was telling a story when the Minister of Magic was liable to blow him to pieces.

"Xander, I would suggest..."

The boy looked over in the direction of Rupert Giles. "I'm okay, G-Man."

"Don't ever call me that."

Xander smiled a little, then turned his gaze back to the jittery Fudge. "Anyway, me, bomb, basement...it was about to go off..." The boy started to move towards the Minister. Every eye in the room was on him. "We had seconds...if we had run, neither of us would have made it out." He drew closer to Fudge. "He asked me if I was willing to die." He was an arm's length from the wizard, the tip of the wand touching the middle of his chest. "And I told him something..." His empty left hand rose and touched Fudge's shaking one that was gripping the wand, closing around it to hold it steady. "I told him..." He kept the tip of the wand pressed against his breastbone. "I told him I like the quiet."

"Xander, get back," Ethan had scrambled to his feet and was rapidly rounding the table towards the boy.

His other hand rose in the direction of Ethan. 

"Don't worry," the boy said quietly, not taking his deep brown eyes from Fudge's wild ones. Ethan suddenly looked as if he was having trouble moving, a puzzled expression on his face. "I know what I'm doing."

"I should kill you, boy!" The muscles in Fudge's cheeks were twitching wildly, his hand still shaking around the wand he was holding. His frantic eyes were staring at the boy and he looked like he had completely lost the plot. Strangely, though, he didn't seem able to look away from the boy's tranquil face. "Filth like you! Polluting our world!"

Stone couldn't help feel a surge of anger at the insults the Minister of Magic was hurling at little more than a helpless boy. "Minister..."

"Don't start, Stone!" Wild eyes flashed dangerously in his direction. "This scum shouldn't be allowed to live! Its my duty to do away with him!"

Xander's lips lifted in a tired smile. "Not the first time I've heard that," he said quietly. "Go ahead..."

"Alex! NO!" Ginny Weasley shrieked, trying to grab him.

Xander glanced quickly over his shoulder at her and she immediately staggered back a couple of paces, straight into Snape's arms. Like Rayne and Malfoy, she seemed a little stunned by something.

Every eye was on the pair by the table.

Fudge's hand was shaking more than ever, despite being held by Xander's around the wand, his eyes bulging. "You..." his voice was shaking with a combination of confusion and fear. "You aren't afraid."

It was a flat statement.

That tired, but genuine smile crossed the boy's face again. "Like I said to Pete," he replied. "I like the quiet." He inclined his head. "It's up to you, sir. You do what you think is right."

"Minister...look at him..." Stone whispered.

Snape added his voice. "Do you think we would speak against you, if we believed he could do us harm?"

"Shut up! SHUT UP!" Fudge practically sobbed, his whole body shaking with the vehemence of the words.

"Back off, guys," Xander's voice was so soft it was barely even a whisper. His gaze was holding Fudge's, the hand closed around the Minister's loose enough for the older man to shrug it off. "This is his decision."

The Minister was staring at him, pale, wild-looking and frantic. His eyes darted to his hand, which was trembling against the boy's, then back to the passive brown eyes that were focused entirely on him, concerned.

"You-" Fudge's voice shook and he sounded like he was on the verge of breaking down. "You would let me kill you, boy? You would let me?"

"If it meant you freed my mom and believe that your world will be safe again, yes."

The loose skin of Fudge's cheeks was twitching. He was trembling like a leaf in the wind. His lower lip was quivering as he stared at the youth. He looked more like a scared little boy than the Minister of Magic.

When his voice slipped out, it was a tremulous treble.

"A-A-Avada..."

***

Shuddering against the back wall of the cell, Cassandra had given up completely.

Let them violate her, mind and body. 

Let them break her. 

She was hurting too much to fight them anymore.

Pressing up against the cold, slime-matted stone, the texture rough against her cheek, she mumbled to herself as she scraped slime free with her nails, which was slick on the skin of her face.

Every so often, she would nudge her temple hard against the stone. It made her head hurt briefly, a dark, black bruise spreading on her brow, but the pain made her forget, just for a minute.

Had anyone looked in on her, they would never have recognised her as the dignified witch she had been at her trial.

Long blonde hair hung like dirty, blood-matted string around a face that was marked with bruises and raw cuts, from her initial reaction to the Dementors. Her eyes seemed to have doubled in size, ringed in black and exhausted beyond any level that sleep could relieve.

Her robes that had been semi-intact when she had been ushered into the cell were little more than scraps, torn by twitching fingers and ripped by the witch's savage convulsions on the floor.

Her small feet and hands were bare, bruised and covered in open grazes that were coated with the filth of the walls and floor.

Her knees were bunched up against her chest and she shuddered as a gust of icy wind screamed through the cell, her slime-covered fingers coming up and jabbing at her bloody face randomly.

"Touched me...there...there...there..." she mumbled, giggling a little.

Her near-black eyes flicked to the far side of the cell, where he was standing. He always stood there, in his flapping robes, watching her, even when the others were the ones to hurt and violate her. 

"Rude to stare..." 

Did she actually say the words aloud?

She couldn't be sure.

Did she even think them or was it someone else?

It might have been him, but she wasn't certain.

Or maybe it was no one...or someone who wasn't there...

She choked on a half-sob, half-giggle.

Gone...here...all the same...

A ripple of dizziness washed over her, when she the robed figure of her guard move past the opening of the cell, leaving her unguarded for a moment. Had it been even a day or two earlier...

Two days?

Was that how long she had been here?

It felt like longer.

Maybe forever, but not quite a couple of days.

Cringing back against the wall, she rubbed her cheek against the stone, her hand crossing in front of her chest and slapping at the cold, damp slabs. She slapped harder and harder.

Something cracked and she whimpered.

It hurt!

Her hand was limp at the wrist and she stared at it.

"All broke...all broke..."

A clatter from the doors of her cell distracted her from the pain of her wrists and she slammed up against the wall, staring anywhere but the door, wondering if they had come to hurt her like everyone else. If she didn't look, they wouldn't get her. If she didn't look. If she didn't look.

A gasp escaped her as warmth seemed to flood the icy cell and her body.

Only one person ever elicited that reaction in her, but he...no...

"Yessssss," Voldemort hissed from his corner of her cell. "My son has come to me!"

"No!" Thrusting her limp hands into her hair, Cassandra shuddered as pain rocketed through her. "No! You won't take him! You won't! You won't!"

"Mom?"

Terrified eyes ducked away from the figure standing at the door of the cell. "Alex... go... leave... please..." she whispered, the ridges of brick in the wall cutting against her spine. "I don't want him to...no...no..."

"Mom, it's all right."

He stepped right into the cell.

Voldemort hissed with pleasure and moved towards him.

"NO!" Lunging to her feet, Cassandra threw herself at the Dark Lord with a wild scream of fury. She seemed to pass straight though his body - how odd! - and would have crashed against the bars when a gentle pair of hands caught her.

Suddenly, Voldemort was gone.

Warm, gentle arms were holding her.

This wasn't right...

In her nightmares, he was never so warm...so soft...

He was dead.

Dead at his father's hands...

Or living and cold, laughing, her blood on his fingers...

Yes, yes...that had to be it.

Any minute now, his hand would thrust through her chest and squeeze the life from her heart...

"Mom? Can you hear me mom?"

She tried to pull away. "You're not Alex...you're not...you can't be... " Yanking away, she scrambled back into her corner, cowering down, trying to make herself as small as possible.

"Mom," his voice sounded just like him. They usually didn't sound so painfully like her boy. "Mom, look at me."

"No...no...no..."

"Mom, please?"

The quiet desperation in those two words caught her.

Despite all her mental warnings not to look, to run, to stay away, her eyes rose.

"Oh God..."

It was Alexander.

"Oh God..."

He really was here...

"Alex..."

He nodded.

"Oh God...Alex..."

One of her hands - shaking, dirty and blood-stained - rose up towards him and she managed to give him a smile, before it felt like someone pulled a curtain of black down on her world.


	21. Chapter 21 : The Heir

Set - shortly after ch. 20

Notes: I know the last chapter was more than a little confusing, what with unresolved scenarios with everybody, pretty much but here we go for all of you who have stuck with me this far - nice, comfortable resolution. Perhaps ;)

Oh, and to get in the mood for writing this chapter, I listened to a Queen song repeatedly - No One But You. Gotta love music - food for the soul, it is. Speaking like Yoda, am I.

Also, for the record, I despise doing endings, which is why my series are usually so long and drawn out. Endings are my biggest fear. I don't like them. They have a tendency to become cheesy in my hands. They scare me a lot. I try and avoid them, but this story...well, it has an ending. 

And compared to most endings I've done, its not too bad.

______________________

Chapter Twenty-One - The Heir

Warm...

Warm and light...

Her eyes still pressed tightly shut, Cassandra didn't want to risk opening them, in case it wasn't real, in case she was still there, in case the red glow she saw through her lids was blood once again.

Her hands shook by her sides, touching whatever she was lying on.

Soft...

Warm, light and soft...

It had to be a dream: a cruel, evil dream that would slip from her grasp as soon as she dared to open her tightly closed eyes.

Shivers - and not from any cold - rapidly passed through her bruised and scored body, her aches and pains returning to her full force, as she fished around for more evidence of where she was.

Inhaling a nervous breath, she gasped. 

Antiseptic.

Clean air.

No blood or salt or fear...

Hesitantly, biting down on her lower lip so hard that she could taste her own blood, she started to open one eye, squinting as clear, bright light, clean light flooded into her visual senses.

A shaking breath escaped her.

This wasn't there...it definitely wasn't there...

A high roof towered above her, clean and creamy in the light flooding in the windows above her...bed? She was in a bed? Turning her head slowly, she looked down at her body.

Yes...

She was in a bed, in a nightshirt, with sheets and blankets tucked up to her chest, where her horribly bruised and cut hands lay by her sides. Tears welled in her eyes as she recognised what was resting beside her right hand.

Despite the pain lancing through her limp wrist, she moved her hand until her shaking fingertips touched her son's head, where it was resting on his folded arms, on the edge of the mattress.

"A...lex..."

Sleepy brown eyes flickered opened and, yawning like a puppy would, he lifted his head. "Whu...?" 

"A...lex..." she whispered, her dry lips beading with blood, wishing she could say more than that, lift her hand, move, hug him, jump around...anything!

His eyes turned to her face, widening. "Mom!" She felt her lips painfully rise in a smile, fighting down the dizziness and awful headache that was looming in on her. "I-I thought you were...oh God...mom..."

Despite the awkwardness of her position, he managed to wrap his arms around her and she could feel his hot tears against her throat and more than anything, she wanted to be able to lift her arms and return the embrace.

She just felt so tired, so utterly exhausted.

Tears stung in her eyes and she whispered, "My baby boy..."

"Oh God, mom..." He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, leaning over her, one of her feeble little hands resting between his, tears streaking his cheeks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Couldn't...loved you...too much..." Why did she feel so tired? So drained?

"I love you too, mom and Ethan...he's here...he told me everything...we got you out... you're safe now...you're gonna come home and were gonna take care of you and everything'll be fine."

Cassandra's eyes closed, too heavy for her to keep them open any longer. "I..." she whispered softly. "Know...love...you..."

She felt her son's lips brush her cheek, as she drifted back into somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness.

***

"That can't be good for you."

Blood-shot eyes peered over folded arms, Malfoy's face buried in the thick sleeves of his robes. "You're not my bloody father," he mumbled, lowering his face until all his features except his forehead and hair were hidden from sight.

"Malfoy," Giles said. "Come on." 

One hand under Draco's elbow started to bring him to his feet, but he sulkily jerked his arm free and crossed them on the bar top again, burying his face. "You can't tell me what to do," he slurred. "Sod off."

Giles' eyes narrowed and had if who knew him had been there, they would have identified the expression as that of the one known as 'Ripper' and no one, especially not a pissed-as-a-newt young wizard, told Ripper what he couldn't do.

Fortunately for the wizard, The Leaky Cauldron was almost empty, only a couple of old wizards dotted here and there in the booths or at the tables, so what happened next went unseen for the most part.

Grabbing a handful of the back of Malfoy's collar in one hand and one of the boy's arms with the other, the older wizard frog-marched the protesting youth out of the back door of the Leaky Cauldron and into the yard.

Before he could cry out, Draco's head was plunged into the rain barrel that stood beside the door, the rush of cold suddenly washing away all the blurry warmth in his mind that half a bottle of vodka had provided him with.

He struggled futilely and was jerked back, his head erupting from the water. Panting and gasping, he struck out, only for those strangely strong arms to fend of his blows and take control of him again.

Spun around, the dizzy - and slightly sick-feeling - wizard stared at Giles as he was slammed back against the wall that lead into Diagon Alley, the expression on the older man's face more frightening than anything he had ever seen on his father.

That was really saying something as well. 

Yes, Draco Malfoy had idolised his father, but he had also been terrified senseless of him: of the beatings he meted out; of the insults he landed on his son's head for not being nearly good enough; of everything about him.

To see an expression more terrifying than his father when he was angry...

His lip started to tremble and he felt cold suddenly, like all the blood in his body had been replaced with ice. Water was trickling down his face, his hair hanging over his eyes and his teeth started to chatter.

"Now listen to me, you little prick," Green eyes were fixed on his dangerously. "I might not be your arsehole of a father, but I do know what I'm talking about. I'm not letting you start down that road."

"And why should you give a fucking damn?" Frightened, cold and wet, Draco's words came out harsh and loud before he could stop them. "Why do you give a fucking damn what happens to me?" He shoved Giles' hands off his shoulders, his eyes burning. His words rapidly turned from angry statements to raw sobs. "I'm scum, remember? I was a fucking Death Eater! Why the hell would you care?"

He was slammed back up against the wall again, but a little less forcefully. "I give a damn because I've been where you are now, you little git," Giles' voice had softened a little, although it was still rough. "I won't let you go that way..."

One of the hands on his upper arms loosened and rose to lift the shaking youth's face up, making Draco's grey eyes meet green. Tears were burning their way down the young wizard's face and he was choking on harsh, wracking sobs.

If he was ever asked at a later date what he happened, Malfoy would say that he had no idea whatsoever.

One minute, he had been forcibly pinned against the wall, the next, he was crying like a bloody baby in the protective arms of the older wizard with the frightening eyes and the reassuring words.

His sobs choked him so much that he doubled over, fell to his knees and vomited the meagre fluid contents of his stomach on the cobbles of the yard. Giles went on one knee beside him and supported him, an arm around Draco's shoulder.

Bile and saliva dripping from his mouth, his throat feeling as if he had swallowed rusty nails and crushed glass, Draco stared wildly at the older wizard, his tears still stinging down his cheeks. 

"I hate it..." he hacked out, slamming the heels of his hands against his forehead, his voice rising in pitch and intensity. "I HATE IT! I want to fucking forget! I don't want to remember! I want to forget my mum's face when she died! I want to forget my dad thrashing me because I was never damn well good enough for his perfect world! I want to forget!" Furious, grief-filled grey eyes flashed at Giles, as the young wizard threw himself at the older wizard. "I want to get pissed! I want to get so fucking pissed that I don't even remember my own name or him or THIS!" He ripped his sleeve back, baring the dark mark. "I want to forget!"

His fists were pounding against the older wizard's chest as he let all his anger, his misery and his all out frustration escape. Giles, for his part, let the boy beat against his chest for as long as he needed to then sag against him, crying. 

As Draco's hysterical cries trailed off into muted whimpers, his body still shaking violently, Giles helped him unsteadily get to his feet, supporting the boy's body with his own.

He held the blond boy as protectively as he would any of his other surrogate children in Sunnydale, leading him back into the Leaky Cauldron and to one of the booths in the darker corners.

There, he let the boy pour forth his woes, then shared with him the experiences that he had learned in his youth, after failing his father, being expelled from Hogwarts and his involvement with the blackest of the black arts.

***

"Hi, Ethan," Alexander didn't even need to look up when a pair of callused hands came to rest on his shoulders, where he sat beside his mother's bed. They squeezed his shoulders briefly.

"How is she?" The wizard looked down at the horribly frail-looking woman in the bed before them. She had always been so tiny and delicate, but now, she looked more than a hundred times worse.

Her hollow face was as white as the wax of the candles that stood in brackets on the walls. Deep, dark purple hollows ringed beneath her eyes. Her lips were swollen and scabbed, scratches and bruises covering her delicate features.

From what he had heard from the witches on duty, the rest of her body was as bad, if not worse than her face. If her appearance was anything to go by, she was more dead than alive, but the older wizard wasn't about to admit to his God-son.

"She woke up again a while ago, but she was too tired," Alexander replied quietly, one of his hands lying over his mother's. His hushed voice still echoed off the high walls and roof of the ward, no matter how quietly he spoke.

They were in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and had been for the two days since Cassandra Bones had been granted a full pardon by the Aurors committee and Ministry of Magic.

Alexander - himself - had gone to Azkaban to retrieve her, Benjamin Stone his only companion on the journey, and they had immediately had her brought to the central magical hospital, where she had remained unconscious for nearly a full day.

Stone had been horrified at the sight of Bones, when the boy had emerged, carrying the limp body of his mother, his brown eyes grim. Only two days before, when she had been placed in the prison, she had seemed so...

He couldn't say what, but to see her after the Dementors had been given her...

Her life must have been horrific for her to react to them so badly. 

Alexander hadn't explained. 

He hadn't said anything until his mother was safely in a bed in the hospital, being treated by the best nurses available to the wizarding world.

There was silence in the ward now, the light of the sinking sun washing in through the high windows that rose to the Gothic ceiling, which towered high above them, the gargoyles and carvings eerily shadowed by candles and disappearing sunlight.

"Ethan," Alexander looked up at him. "I...I need to ask a big favour."

"What is it?" The seriousness in the boy's voice startled him.

Alexander looked back down at his mother's face. It was contorted in pain and she was whimpering, her head twitching from side-to-side spasmodically. "I need to go and see Stone," he said quietly. "Can you stay with mom until I get back?"

"You positive you don't want me to come with you?"

"Someone needs to be here in case she wakes up again," the boy said. "Could I...I don't have any over robes and I kinda don't want to be standing out..."

Ethan looked down at the robes he was wearing again. He had forgotten just how cold it was in England, but he immediately shrugged out of them and handed them to Alexander. "You take care, all right?"

"I always do," Alexander replied, pulling the robes on. "If mom asks where I am, tell her she can have three guesses."

Ethan almost smiled, as he slipped into the seat that his Godson had just vacated. "I think I can manage that."

It was only ten minutes after Alexander had left the ward - clad in the wizard's comfortable, thick travelling robes - that Ethan realised, with chagrin, that he had left his wand in the pocket of his robes.

"Good thing the boy doesn't know how to use it," he muttered, turning his attention back to his lover and taking her small hand between his.

***

"So you're still hanging about?"

Giles raised his eyes from the young man seated beside him to the older one standing just beside the booth, gazing down at them. The small red head was at his side, her arms around him. "Snape."

"Do you mind if we join you?"

Waving towards the opposite side of the table, Giles' smile was brittle. "How are you both?"

"We're okay," the girl said. "Please, how is Cassandra? Is she all right?"

The Watcher exhaled a sigh. "I'm afraid I-I-I don't really know," he replied. "As far as I am aware, she was still drifting in and out of consciousness. Xander and Ethan are still keeping watch over her."

"And dare we ask why you still have _him_ with you?"

Malfoy's eyes rose defiantly, but there was a worn look about his pale face. "Sod off, you obnoxious bastard," he whispered, his voice rasping, looking back down at his tankard of butterbeer.

"We h-h-have been comparing notes," Giles' green eyes flashed in warning at the former Teacher. There was something in those eyes that suggested the man was more powerful than he looked. "And we have decided that both our f-fathers were pricks."

"Ah, now there is a topic I am familiar with. The wonder of fathers."

"N-n-n-n-no..." All men looked at the girl, who was pressing against Snape's side, her face white.

A look of horrified guilt shot across Snape's face. "By Merlin..." he breathed, his fingers threading through her hair and drawing her to him, his lips pressing against the top of her head. "Forgive me. It slipped my mind, dear one..."

"If I may..."

"NO."

Malfoy touched the startled Watcher on the arm, leaning up to whisper something to him, no doubt explaining the circumstances in which Ginny had been cursed with her last encounter with her father.

"Good god..."

"Sadly, he was absent that night," Snape murmured, gathering his lover in his arms.

Malfoy, however, was staring at his former House Master. "Why are you..." A black brow rose. "Oh!" His face twisted in horror, his eyes going from the Potions Master's face to the barely visible face of the girl in his arms. "Eurgh!"

"I believe that is what her brother said," Snape's eyes were focused on Ginny's bowed head, her small hands spread on his chest. "Dear one?" Brown eyes lifted to him, blinking tears back. "Are you all right?"

One of her arms slid up and around his neck, pulling him down. Burying her face in his throat, she wrapped her other arm around him, his own arms lifting her into his lap to cradle her.

"But you...her...that's just sick! You're old enough to be her bloody father!"

"V-V-V-Voldemort was o-older," Ginny stammered.

"Treble your age, at least, dear one."

The red head sniffed softly, curling comfortably against Snape's chest. "Pervy old bastard that he was," she whispered. "I like my men older than me...but not that old... and wrinkly...yuck..." 

Her lover and the watcher both had to smile at the tone in her voice.

"That reminds me," Malfoy was staring at her as if he had just realised something or earth-shattering importance. "You were dead last time I checked. Why aren't you still dead? Was it just a temporary thing? Or did Snape raise you to be his zombie-love-muppet? I would believe in that more than in you miraculously being resurrected."

Ginny actually giggled. "Malfoy!"

"What? Like he wouldn't do that, Weasley," What looked like a genuine, albeit very hesitant smile came onto his lips. "I bet that is what he did, but he just didn't bother to tell you."

"Malfoy," Snape snarled, his eyes glittering. 

"Uh..." The blond man drew back in his seat warily. 

"Severus," a small hand brought his face around, his expression softening as soon as he met Ginny's eyes. "You're being horrible, scaring poor Malfoy like that."

"Ah, yes, dear one, but you must recall that is because it is what I do best."

Ginny's lips rose a little. "Not quite, Severus," she muttered. "But I'm sure that the thing you do best would also scare Malfoy out of his wits, if he ever had the chance to see you doing it."

Black eyes gleamed with amusement. "You really are quite the minx, you realise, dear one?" he remarked, before weaving his hand through her hair and pulling her mouth against his.

Malfoy blinked, then stared, then blinked and stared some more.

It was like a muggle car-wreck.

He couldn't seem to look away.

That is, until he was sure he saw a flash of a tongue.

"Giles, let me out! I think I'm going to be sick!"

Ginny and Snape broke out of the kiss and smirked. 

Them? 

Smirking? 

In unison? 

At him? 

And looking more evil and wicked than he ever had when he smirked?

After being befriended by the Heir of the Dark Lord, having his head dunked in a rain barrel in the back yard of The Leaky Cauldron, being practically adopted by an ex-demon-worshipper before seeing his House Master stick his tongue in the mouth of one of the Weasleys, it really was turning out to be the most surreal week of Draco Malfoy's life.

***

Alexander stood at the doorway at the head of the hall, taking a slow breath. He had never felt more nervous or frightened in his life and it wasn't just because of those looming robed guards.

Dementors.

A shiver passed down his spine.

The wash of ice, the bitter gall, the surge nausea he felt when they neared made it painfully clear why his mother had been in such a condition when he had liberated her from the prison two days earlier.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Stone asked.

Alexander nodded. 

His eyes roamed the grim hallway he was about to enter. He could hear the moans and whimpers already, his hands shaking by his sides, gusts of sea-scented air tossing his hair into tangled curls.

It looked like it should be deserted. 

It looked like a ruin.

Cold, grey stone was everywhere, cracked flagstones lining the floor, puddles and mould staining them. Riddled with chinks, the wind whistled shrilly through the wall, the sound making him shudder again.

The only light in the hall came from tiny windows in the cell and two large, circular windows - with magically enhanced transparent shields instead of glass - high on the gables, allowing the weak moonlight to wash everything in a pale weird blue.

On either side of the long, narrow, dark hall, box-like cells stood, enclosed by thick, rusting bars. Each one contained a prisoner in a different state of sanity: some rocking in corners; some screaming hoarsely on the floor; some limp like vegetables.

A hollow banging caught his attention and he looked in the direction of the sound, immediately regretting it.

One of the prisoners was cracking his head rhythmically against the rusted metal of the bars. 

He was mumbling, blood streaming down his face, a visible dent appearing in his already misshapen forehead. He pulled his head back and made it connect with the thick bar once more, hard.

There was a crunching sound, like someone hitting an over-ripe watermelon with a sledgehammer.

The prisoner went limp and slid bonelessly down the bar, leaving a smear of blood and brain tissue all the way down the column of metal. Slumping on the floor, an ooze of grey slipped from his cracked skull.

Bracing one hand against the crumbling doorframe, Alexander fought down a wave of nausea, closing his eyes.

"Alexander?"

"Wait outside," the boy whispered. "You don't need to deal with this. It's time for me to face him."

Stone nodded, relieved to be out. He stepped back, as the young man took his first uneasy steps into the hall, the scent of blood, urine, vomit and death overhanging the whole corridor.

Alexander tried not to look at what was happening in the cells.

He tried to tell himself that the people imprisoned were there for a reason, that they deserved whatever they got, that they had committed foul crimes against humanity and should suffer.

Bile rose in his throat, as he saw one of the prisoners out of the corner of his eye.

It was a young woman, probably only a few years older than he was. She was sitting on the floor in the middle of her cell, cross-legged, rocking feverishly as she yanked clump after clump of her hair out, her scalp torn and bleeding.

Pressing his lips together, Alexander continued down the hall, his footsteps sounding deafening to him, until he reached the final grim cell, several bars of which had been magically removed to provide an entry way.

Clearly, no one expected the prisoner to get up and walk out.

Stepping into the room, Alexander's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness around him, the only light and air provided by a narrow slit in the wall that was classed as a 'window'. 

It was about four inches wide and a foot long, which meant the light was hazy at best, but especially because it was night.

Squinting around, he turned towards the darkest corner of the room when he heard someone whisper.

"Who are you, boy?"

The voice was soft, sibilant, dangerous.

Alexander felt a cold sweat prickling down his back, his stomach twisting into tight and painful knots. He looked for the owner of the voice, only seeing a small lump of what looked like blankets in the corner.

"V-Voldemort..." he stammered. 

Somehow, now that he was here, he could understand just why the Dark Lord was so infamous. His hissing voice was so calm, so cool, so deadly that it made him feel that the owner feared nothing.

Even the feel of the room...

The wind was still shrieking around him, the chill making his ears and nose go red, but nothing could compare to the blood-freezing feeling that he felt settle in the pit of his stomach.

He wanted to turn, to run away, to be sick...all at once.

"I know who I am, boy," the voice murmured again. "Who are you, to be granted access to me?"

Shivering, pulling the thick robes around his body, the reassuring smell of Ethan lingering on them, Alexander swallowed hard, staring down at the bundle of ragged blankets in the corner.

Focussing his mind on snakes in any way, shape or slithery form, he answered, his voice shaking with fear, "I am Alexander Bones, only son of Cassandra Bones... Heir of Slytherin..."

His words escaped as a series of hisses and spits and he swallowed hard again, his fingers biting into the material of the robes around him that were doing nothing to keep out the cold.

There was a stunned silence.

Hardly surprising, Alexander thought, swallowing hard and repeatedly - it was the only thing he could do to stop himself being sick - Voldemort would hardly expect the Ministry to allow his Heir access.

It seemed like an eternity before the heap in the corner shifted, the fabric rustling.

"My Heir."

The two simple words were stated in a respite of the wind.

Alexander slowly nodded, wondering why he had felt the urge to come anyway.

Was he trying to make himself go nuts? Did he want to have a complete nervous breakdown? Did he want to be tormented by the fact that his father was a terrifying psychopath who looked strangely like a heap of blankets?

"They granted you access to me..." There was a hissing chuckle. "Foolssss..."

Alexander's teeth were clattering together noisily. Every single part of his body felt like it was shivering on it's own. His pushed his shaking hands into the deep pockets of the robes.

"You have reached maturity."

"Y-yes."

The blankets shifted and Alexander froze. Gleaming scarlet eyes were staring up at him from the darkness of the corner. Red eyes...if that wasn't enough to make him run in terror, he knew nothing was.

Only, legs-frozen-in-fear were making it a bit of a problem.

"You resemble your mother."

Mom...

"A great deal."

Oh God...

This was what his mom had dealt with.

Frightening voice, bad BAD feeling, evil...

"Do they know who you are, my Heir?"

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Alexander nodded. "Y-yes, sir." There was a rasping chuckle at his words. "They...the Minister...he wished to kill me."

"Dear Cornelius..." Voldemort whispered to himself. "You killed the bloated fool, no doubt..."

Alexander's hands clenched into fists in his pockets, his teeth grinding together. His _father_, his biological father, thought he - Alexander - would have killed a wizard for being afraid of him?

His fingers brushed against wood in his left pocket, his lips parting in surprise. A wand? How had he...

Alexander's eyes widened. 

Ethan's wand.

"Tell me, my boy," his father whispered. "Can you feel the power? Do you desire to use it?"

My boy...

Mom called him that, but it had never sounded so...dirty when she said it, when he was curled in her arms. 

Even the sound of those words on the Dark Lord's lips made him feel like he had to run and wash himself, scrub himself clean until he didn't feel so filthy.

Robert Harris called him that, too.

It aroused almost the same feelings of fear and disgust that the words had caused him when Voldemort had spoken them. Every time he was knocked down, or struck by his stepfather's fist, that was what Harris had called him.

My boy...

Only his mother ever said it with love.

Neither of the men he could call father made it feel that way.

It was almost as if he was an animal. 

Owned. 

Theirs.

"P-power?"

"Yes, boy, power."

A burning, sick feeling was settling over the icy lump in his stomach. Was that all this... _thing_ cared about? Power? What about his mom? What about everything that she had gone through?

Clearing his throat, Alexander shakily asked, "What are...we going to do?"

"With your strength, my boy, I will rise once more," there was another hissing laugh, full of ice-hard mirth. It made gooseflesh rise on Alexander's skin. "They will see the folly of imprisoning me thus."

"You'll be strong because of me?" Alexander asked. He felt dizzy. 

He couldn't let it all happen again. He couldn't let anyone else go through what his mother had. What the Mini-Willow had. What Creepy-black-wearing guy had. Even what Draco had.

"Yes, my boy...together..."

"We will rule the Galaxy as Father and Son..." Alexander's eyes closed, a mirthless smile crossing his lips at the thought of Star Wars. Voldemort was the incarnation of an even more evil Vader to his Skywalker.

"Yessss..." Voldemort breathed. His eerie red eyes were glittering. "My son, my blood, my Heir..."

Opening his eyes slowly, Alexander raised his head and smiled a forced smile.

"You're wrong..." he said.

The red eyes narrowed to slits. "What causes you to say this, my boy?"

Alexander withdrew the wand from his pocket, pointing it at the heap. "You are not my father," he said in a low voice, fear matched by loathing and disgust. "You were never my father."

***

"But I thought he was a squib."

Malfoy shook his head emphatically. "Not a chance, Professor," he said, unable to shake the habit of calling Snape Professor. "The first time I met him, he admitted he had power, but he didn't want it."

"He is a remarkable young man, powerless or not," Giles said.

The odd quartet were still sitting in the quiet booth in The Leaky Cauldron, enjoying the chance to talk to people who were on the same level as they were, without being judged for it.

A lantern stood in the middle of the table, its warm glow making the group seem almost...cosy, which would have struck any observers as rather bizarre, considering the membership of the group: a spy who was a Death Eater; a son of Death Eater who was a Death Eater; a wizard who had been expelled for experimentation with the Dark Arts and a witch who had been the Dark Lord's unfortunate consort.

"Didn't you wonder why I fell back in your lap at the plea?"

Snape gave his lover a look, a small smile lifting his lips as he said, "Dear one, in case it slipped your mind, you do that on a regular basis."

"Not that time, Severus," she swatted at his chest. "When I tried to stop him, something pushed me back when he looked at me. It wasn't a hard push, but just enough to throw me off-balance."

"Same here, Weasley," Malfoy said, after swallowing a mouthful of butterbeer. "It was like a hand against my chest had stopped me moving."

"Remarkable..."

Ginny was turning a tankard on the table, staring at the reflection of the lamp on the rim. "You know," her voice was shaking as she spoke. "When Fudge started to say Avada K-K-Kedavra, I-I really thought he was going to do it."

"As did we all," Giles had removed his glasses and was polishing them on his shirt, his brown furrowing. 

"It was his lack of conviction when he said the words that saved the boy," Snape said. "Had he truly wished to kill him, Alexander would be dead now, considering that he said the full incantation..."

Giles closed his eyes for a moment. "I prefer not to imagine that," he said somewhat uncomfortably. "Although, quite how Xander actually managed to-to-to convince him to do otherwise..."

"Force of personality, Giles," Malfoy said, leaning back against the high back of the booth's seat. the back of his head rocked back against the dark wood, a sigh slipping past his lips. "The bloody great prat has a gift of making you like him."

"Y-y-you really think so?"

Draco lowered his chin and gave the watcher a look. "All people here who genuinely like Xander, raise a hand now," he said dryly. Four hands rose. "You think I stayed because of his spectacular taste in clothes?"

"I suppose he-he-he does have a way with people."

"Does he have anyone who dislikes him?"

Giles, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, his glasses dangling from his other fingers, smiled a little. 

"His greatest enemy is the vampire with a soul that he mentioned at the plea," he replied. "Even when Angel was souled, Xander maintained that he was evil. He was proved right in the end."

"You would think he would feel more threatened by soulless vampires," Snape remarked dryly.

"You would..."

"Shit!" 

Both Snape and Malfoy had uttered the curse, voices full of pain, suddenly grasping at their left forearms, agony etched on their faces.

The colour flooded from Malfoy's face as he pulled his knees up, hunching over his wrist. His right hand was locked around his forearm, his left twisted into a rigid-looking claw, his breathing ragged.

Snape looked just as bad, his lips peeled back from his clenched teeth, his right hand savagely pinning his left arm down on his thigh. His eyes were fixed on a spot beyond the table and he was shaking, although it was barely visible.

"S-Severus?" Ginny was staring down at his robed arm in horror.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod..." Malfoy was hoarsely whispering the words like a mantra, raising his eyes to the ceiling and blinking hard, tears of pain breaking from his grey eyes.

"What is it?" Giles demanded, grasping the boy's shoulders when he began to shake.

"The Dark Mark," Ginny whispered, staring at her lover's face in panic.

Malfoy seemed to slump first, gasping. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, his face still white, voice hoarse. "It...where did the pain go...?"

"I...it was never that bad before...never..." Snape muttered. He looked like he would collapse if he even tried to stand. Shaking fingers feverishly pried at the button of his cuff, his hand quivering. "Dear one...?"

Leaning forward, Ginny twisted the button open, looking up at him with clear fear in her eyes. Reluctantly, Snape pushed his sleeve up over his wrist, apprehensive of what he would find.

"Malfoy...?" Raising his eyes, he looked across at the younger man, who had jerked his own sleeve back from his arm.

Malfoy stared back at him, looking equally stunned. "It...how?"

"What is it?" Ginny's hand caught his, drawing his left arm towards her. She turned his arm over, her mouth falling open as she touched the pale skin. "Severus..." Her voice was shaking. "Your mark, Severus...your mark..."

"It's gone..." He was staring at the spot which had been marred for so many years by the hideous effigy of the skull and snake, as if could not believe what he was seeing, the skin bare and unmarred once more.

Malfoy's voice was shaking as hard as Ginny's. "What does it mean, Professor?"

For the first time in far too many years, Snape felt a broad, genuine smile breaking onto his lips. "It means," he said, savouring every single sweet syllable. "That Lord Voldemort is dead."

***

"Oh God!"

"Cassie?" Trying to stop his lover from thrashing her way off the bed, Ethan grabbed Cassandra's thin shoulders. Kneeling over her, one of the medi-witches running down the ward, he was holding her down on the mattress, as she writhed and cried out in pain. "Cassie!"

Her eyes snapped open as she arched up on the bed, her mouth opening in a silent scream of pain, her fingers hooking into the blankets beneath her with enough force to tear through them.

"Cassie, dammit! Don't you do this!"

Beneath him, Cassandra went limp, slumping on the bed.

Ethan sat back a little. "Blimey," he muttered, startled. "It worked..."

"What happened?" the medi-witch demanded, yanking him off the bed with more force than her four-foot-eight frame should have allowed. 

"I-I don't know, luv. She just started screaming and thrashing about..."

The witch huffed, checking Cassandra's vital signs. "Oh! You're awake, dear!" she gasped, when Cassandra's dark eyes opened and stared up at her wildly. "Are you feeling all right?"

Cassandra's chin dipped in a nod, then an expression crossed her face that neither Ethan nor the other witch had expected to see.

A wide, delighted smile.

"He's...gone..." she whispered, her brown eyes shimmering with joy and relief, before her head sagged back on the fluffy white pillow, as she was pulled back in the grip of unconsciousness.

Considering the violence of the attack - or whatever it was that she had just had - it wouldn't surprise him if she had undone all the work that the medi-witches had put in to fix her torn body up.

She was far too familiar with unconsciousness at present. 

He didn't like it at all.

"He's gone?" the witch asked, raising her brows, looking rather bemused. "What's she talking about? Her son?"

Ethan's face drained of colour. 

Surely she didn't mean...

It couldn't be possible...could it?

He looked down at Cassandra and - more particularly - at the rather manic grin that was locked on her face, even now that she was unconsciousness.

"You-Know-Who..." he whispered. "You-Know-Who is dead."

***

"Are you finished here?"

Alexander started when Stone spoke. "Wh-what?"

"Are we finished here?" the Auror asked, studying the boy. 

Alexander was leaning against the posts of the front gates of the fortress that was Azkaban, his left temple resting against the crumbling grey stone. His face was white, washed with cold blue in the moonlight.

From the front, Azkaban looked like the ideal setting for a muggle horror film, as some kind of lunatics asylum: grim, high walls; few tiny windows; spiked rooftop to prevent entrance from the air.

The moon was gleaming behind it, making the silhouette look all the more ominous and terrifying.

"Never let me go in there again," the boy said, his voice shaking. "If I had eaten, I would be sick right now..." His eyes opened and he looked up at Stone. "Can we get out of here?"

The haunted expression in the young man's glassy eyes would have broken the hardest heart in the world.

Extending a leather-gloved hand to the boy, which he accepted without hesitation, Stone hauled him upright. 

Supporting Alexander with one arm around his waist, Stone's other kept a grip on his hand to be sure he didn't stumble, or fall on the way to the jetty where a small boat waited to take them back to the mainland.

They were sitting in the small cabin when the Auror finally decided to ask.

"Did you see him?"

"I did." 

Alexander was sitting in the low bunk, opposite the door of the cabin, his eyes fixed on the wall that his feet were resting against, his arms folded over his robed chest, his hands tucked into the crooks of his arms for warmth.

"And?"

Bleak brown eyes looked at him. 

"He was never my father," he replied.

The tone in those five words told Stone that the subject was firmly closed and that if he even thought about reopening it, he was liable to find his head mysteriously missing from his body.

Nodding, sitting at the table in the middle of the cabin, Stone looked down at the book he had been pretending to read since they had left Azkaban. His eyes flicked to Alexander once more.

The boy had returned his stare to the wall in front of his face, his eyes haunted.

Stone shook his head once, looking back to the book.

Turning it the right way up, he started to read it properly.

***

"Xander..."

"Don't, Ethan."

The wizard stared at his Godson in consternation as his heavy robes were thrust back into his hands. "I was just going to tell you that your mother had been asking for you," he said carefully. "She had an attack...she's taken a turn for the worst."

"W-worst?"

"She's weak, Xander...very weak."

They were in the hall just outside the ward and Ethan had emerged for a moment of fresh air, when Alexander had re-entered the hospital, his Godfather's robes slung over his arm as he walked purposefully up the stairs.

Ethan hadn't been able to find out where the boy had gone, although he knew it was somewhere with Benjamin Stone, nor had he really tried, but he hadn't really minded, as long as the boy got back safely.

"How weak?"

Ethan looked away, unable to answer.

"Oh God..." Alexander whispered, moving past Ethan, his eyes filling with tears, hurrying towards the tall twin doors.

"Xander," The boy paused, his hand on the gleaming brass doorknob. "He's gone."

Alexander didn't look around, but he did lower his head. "I know," he said quietly, his voice shaking. There was a moment of silence. "Ethan, if you can help it, don't do that _priori incantatem_ spell thing you told me about, okay?" 

Ethan, who had been folding his robes, looked up sharply, but the door of the ward was already swinging closed.

No bloody way...

***

"Mom."

"Alex," Cassandra managed to smile at him, as he sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted her hand up to press it against her cheek. "My baby boy..."

Tear-filled eyes stared at her, anguished. "Mom, Ethan says...he says you're getting worse," he whispered. "He says...you..." Alexander shook his head. "Mom, you have to be all right...he's gone...you can come home now...we'll be great..."

"We would...have been...perfect...happy..." she breathed, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear her. Her pale lips lifted slightly. "At least...you're safe..."

"Mom..."

"Alex...I love you..."

"No, mom...you don't say that...you don't..." He sounded like he wanted to shout it at her, shake her and scream the words, but he didn't. His voice trembled, tears breaking from his eyes. "I love you means good bye...you can't say good bye...you can't... please, mom...please..."

"I have...no choice...Alex..." She felt hot warmth on her own cheeks, her throat almost closing up. "I've had you...so long...we've been blessed..."

"But things are better now!"

"Yes...you can go out...in the world...no more danger..." With the lightest of touches, she drew him down to her where she lay, his burning face burying in her thick golden hair, her arms sliding around him. "I'm clean...at last...he no longer...holds me..."

"I don't want you to go, mom...please...don't..."

"I've had you...nineteen years..." she whispered, her fingers stroking through his hair, her arms barely able to hold on to him any longer. "I've had more...love than... any mother could...deserve..."

"You're strong, mom...you'll be okay..."

"Alex, please..."

She felt him shudder with a muffled sob. "I know..." he whispered. "But I don't want it to happen..."

"I love you..."

"I love you too...but...mom, please..." His voice choked off and she felt the hot warmth of his tears on her throat, her own eyes pressing shut in despair as tears leaked down her pale cheeks. 

Her words grew fainter. "Forgive me...Alex..."

"For what?"

Her hands were slipping limply down his shoulders, but he caught one, holding it to his face, her fingertips weakly stroking loose curls back from his cheeks. "For leaving you..." She drew a slow breath. "For loving you...too much...and leaving you..."

"I do, mom...I do..." He pressed his cheek against her palm, squeezing his eyes shut, his throat raw and burning. "I love you, mom...I love you..."

Her fingers slipped from his grasp, her small hand falling limply down on the bed.

"Mom?" Alexander whispered, staring at her, one trembling hand touching her shoulder. She had a small smile on her lips. "Mom?" Shaking her gently, he shook his head. "No...mom...not yet...not yet..."

Cassandra Bones continued to gaze sightlessly at him, a peaceful smile on her face.

"No..." Alexander whispered brokenly. "No...no..."

Pulling his mother's body to him, he buried his face in her shoulder, tears streaming down his face.

"Mommy..."

***

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here for a few days?"

Alexander, sitting on the end of the bed in his room in the Leaky Cauldron, looked up at the older man. There was such grief and sorrow in his blood-shot eyes that Giles flinched. "I just want to go home," he said, his voice harsh from weeping.

Giles nodded once. "I thought you might want that."

He was standing at the door of the room, less than three paces from the bed where Alexander sat, one hand on the handle, torn between going to his young charge's side or letting him grieve alone.

"Why did it happen?" the young man asked. He didn't sound bitter, but more hurt and confused by it all. "My mom never did anything to hurt anyone...why did she have to die?"

"Sometimes these things happen, Xander."

Eyes the colour of dark chocolate, filled with tears, lifted to him. "But why?" It was the plaintive question of a frightened little boy, who wanted nothing more than to be taken in his mother's arms and rocked to sleep.

"Xander..." 

Giles wished he had an answer for him. He wished he could comfort the boy with meaningless words. He wished Ethan was present to help him, but his old friend had completely shattered with the news of Cassandra's death.

The funeral had happened that morning, a private, quiet affair. Only the group who had been making the plea for her release, along with Stone and Wood, had been in attendance as she was laid to rest with her family.

Unfortunately, word had leaked out once again and the press were on the alert.

A hesitant tap at the door made both men jolt, Giles opening it a fraction to look out into the hall in case yet another reporter was lurking about, trying to get an interview with the 'Heir'. 

He had beaten the crap out of three already.

"M-Mr. Giles."

"Miss Weasley...what are you doing here?"

The petite red-haired girl slipped into the room. "I-I want to..." she trailed off at the sight of Alexander, sitting morosely on the bed, his eyes fixed on the floor between his feet. "Alexander..."

"Mini-Willow," he whispered, raising his eyes from the floor. A hand rose towards her and she crossed to the bed in three paces, sliding into his lap and wrapping her arms around him as he let the sobs come.

As he eased out of the door of the room, Giles felt a sad smile reach his lips at the sight of them: the grown son of the late Bones and the young woman who had almost become a daughter to her. 

It was fitting that they comfort one another.

***

"It was a privilege to meet you, Harris," Stone was the Leader of the small group standing on the front step of the Leaky Cauldron. He shook the dark-haired boy's hand. "Even if it was under such tragic circumstances."

Alexander smiled, but it didn't reach his red-rimmed eyes. "Yeah," he said, his voice rasping. "At least mom...she's at peace now."

Alongside Stone, Snape stood with his arm around Ginny Weasley's shoulders, also accompanied by Draco Malfoy. Each of them had already stepped forward to say their goodbyes to the unfortunate Heir.

"Cab's here, Xander," Ethan said quietly.

He had disappeared immediately after the funeral of Cassandra, the previous day, only to be found in the darkest corner of the Leaky Cauldron, drunk out of his mind and sobbing brokenly.

Snape had taken the duty of comforting him, while Ginny had gone to Alexander.

When the boy and his Godfather had been reunited, several hours later, they hadn't needed to say any words, the older man pulling his Godson into his arms and just holding him in the way that both of them knew a father should.

They weren't certain what they were going to do when they got back to Sunnydale, especially with Ethan's connections to the Underworld and Alexander's connection with the people who fought the same underworld.

No matter what happened, they knew they could always rely on one another in a way that they had never been able to rely on anyone before. Despite the lack of blood-ties, Alexander finally felt that he truly had a father.

"Could...could I speak to Stone?" the boy asked quietly, as Ethan and Giles loaded their few bags into the taxi and climbed in, waiting for the boy.

"Take your time."

The rest of the group moved away, Alexander leaning against the cab roof, studying his hand which was clenched in a fist against the black metal. "I wanted to thank you for your help," he said, his voice low. "For taking me to Azkaban."

"I owed you," Stone replied. "I wish I could have done more."

"You did more than you know."

There was a long silence, during which the boy unclenched his fist and examined his fingertips as they pressed against the roof. 

"Voldemort is dead."

Stone flinched as if he had been struck at the name. "Wh-what?"

"Voldemort is dead."

"How do you know?"

Alexander tilted his head, his eyes meeting the Auror's. "I know," he said simply.

The older man stared at him for a long moment. "Don't answer anything," he said quietly. "But you're not a squib, are you?" Brown eyes gazed at him. "And you had a wand with you?" Alexander looked down. 

"Everyone said he was indestructible," the boy said, his fingertips tracing a circle on the roof of the cab.

The Auror was staring at him, stunned and delighted in equal measures. Although, it did make him wonder about Voldemort's claim of invincibility. "How do you think it happened, then, Alex?"

"He had never been hit by the curse directly. Ethan told me. Always hit him on the rebound," the reply came, quiet and shaking. "I guess...I guess he...maybe he was... hit with it directly..."

"Yes...yes, that must be it..." Stone couldn't think of anything else to say.

"If you want to arrest me now..."

"Foolish boy," the Auror growled, grabbing the youth by the shoulders and jerking him to his chest in a hard, tight embrace. Alexander returned the brief embrace. "You go home. Live a long, peaceful life."

Their eyes met and Alexander nodded. 

"Thank you," he said.

"No," Stone answered, holding the boy's eyes. He had never been more sincere about anything in his life. "Thank you."

The boy climbed into the cab, sitting in the gap between the two older wizards. He glanced up at Stone once more, as the scarred Auror gave him a nod, then slammed the door of the muggle vehicle.

"Where to, mate?" the driver asked.

"Heathrow airport," Giles answered.

Alexander gazed down at his hands. His voice was quiet. 

"Home."


End file.
